


Hot for Teacher

by David S Pumpkins (davidpumpkins)



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcoholism, Anxiety, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Making Out, Mental Health Issues, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Romance, Self-Indulgent, Suicidal Thoughts, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24677182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davidpumpkins/pseuds/David%20S%20Pumpkins
Summary: You've been finding yourself in a funk a lot lately. No one ever seemed to notice it before you got to Greendale, but now your friends-and a certain professor-are concerned about your wellbeing. Hijinks and smut ensue.Full-disclosure, this is completely self-indulgent, and I am fully aware of how unoriginal the title is. I couldn't think of anything, so special shoutout to Van Halen for that. Maybe some of you guys will like this. Just don't judge my thirst for Duncan too harshly, okay?Also, it's tagged, but be aware that there are heavy themes of depression, other mental health issues, and eventual mentions of suicidal thoughts in this fic.
Relationships: Ian Duncan/Reader
Comments: 70
Kudos: 78





	1. I'd Rather Not Talk About It...

“I’m just saying that I don’t think people give Inspector, um… Min… Mmmm...”

“Minerva.”

“Inspector _Minerva_ , enough credit!”

“You only like Inspector Minerva and Constable Geneva because they’re women,” Troy accused.

Britta gasped dramatically. “What?! That is—I can’t believe… that is _not_ true!”

“I can understand liking Constable Geneva, but literally every _Inspector Spacetime_ fan knows that Minerva is literally the worst,” said Abed.

“Yeah, and who decided that? Male fans. Men who _silence_ female sci-fi fans to push their patriarchal agenda! No wonder women feel ashamed to admit they like the female Inspector! But not me!” Britta said proudly, crossing her arms over her inflated chest.

“Okay Britta, since you’re such a huge fan, what was Inspector Minerva’s catchphrase?” Troy asked.

Britta’s once-proud expression quickly faded. She stared blankly at the study table in front of her, mouthing words that probably made no sense. “Um, well…”

“You don’t know it.”

“I do! I just can’t say it because that’s what you want me to say… to further your patriarchal agenda!”

“Uh-huh.”

“(Y/N), what do you think?” Abed asked.

You started a little at the mention of your name and looked up to find your three friends staring at you. “Huh?”

“You usually love talking about _Inspector Spacetime_ with us,” Abed said, furrowing his eyebrows slightly.

“Yeah, you’re almost as opinionated about it as Abed,” Britta said, concern lacing her voice. “Is everything okay?”

You suddenly realized it wasn’t just Troy, Abed, and Britta looking at you anymore. While the rest of the group had previously been tuning out the _Inspector Spacetime_ argument, they had all put their phones and (in Annie’s case) books down to see your response. Except for Jeff, who was engrossed in texting God-knows-who.

“I’m alright guys. Really,” you said. Britta did not look convinced, so you continued, “I’ve just been in a bit of a funk the last day or so, that’s all.”

“Hmm, that’s what you said when you weren’t feeling well a couple of weeks ago,” Shirley said.

“And the week before that,” Annie chimed in.

“...So? Don’t you guys ever feel like that sometimes?” you asked the group.

“Feel like what?” Annie asked.

You fell silent. You couldn’t just tell everyone you felt empty inside and wanted nothing more than to lay in bed until the feeling (or lack thereof) passed. That would be… well, too depressing. And you didn’t want anyone to be concerned for you. A few seconds of awkward silence passed while you tried to think of something a little less sad to say. Luckily, Jeff set his phone down before you had to try to save yourself.

“Guys, why are you grilling her?” Jeff asked. “Let (Y/N) be. Not even she can be chipper _all_ the time.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t the first time it’s happened. She has these, like, phases where she gets quiet and doesn’t want to talk to us. We just want to make sure she’s okay,” Annie said.

“I’m fine!” you said.

“See? Now let it go,” Jeff said with pointed looks in Annie and Britta’s directions.

“Just because you _say_ you’re fine doesn’t mean you are,” Britta said. “I should know, I’m a psychologist.”

“A psychology major,” Jeff corrected.

“Why is everyone so concerned about (Y/N)?!” Pierce finally spoke up. “You guys never notice when _I’m_ having a bad day!”

“Shut up, Pierce.”

“Look,” you started, “I appreciate your guys’ concern, but I promise I’ll be, um, back to my usual self in a day or two.” As you said this, you figured it would be a good time to head out; studying obviously wasn’t going to happen today, and you weren’t in the mood to hang out. You could practically hear your bed calling your name from your apartment.

“Where are you going?” Britta asked as you started to gather your things. Jeff shot her a brief glare for her nosiness.

“Home. I’m really tired, and I have an early class in the morning. I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” you said. As you got up, most of the group waved or, in Troy’s case, gave a cool nod to say goodbye.

“Let us know if you need anything or want to talk about your feelings!!” Britta shouted after you as you left the room.

You thought about how warm and cozy your bed was. God, it was going to be so freaking comfortable. But at the same time... _God_ was it going to be hard to get out of that cozy bed for your psychology class in the morning.

\-----------------------------------

After a generous eleven hours of sleep, you managed to get out of bed and make it to class the next morning. It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, but it did make you a little bit late. Normally, you would never let such a thing happen, or, at the very least, you’d be freaking out about the moral and reputational consequences of being late to class. But you decided you didn’t really care enough at this point. It’s not like it had ever happened before, so what was the professor going to do?

In fact, that professor for your psychology class was none other than Ian Duncan. He had been late to his own classes once or twice himself, so you weren’t _too_ embarrassed when you slowly creaked the door open for his lecture ten minutes after it had started. Having never been late before, you weren’t sure what the proper etiquette was for entering the room and disrupting the lecture as little as possible. After a moment of deliberation, you walked in quietly with your head down and closed the door silently behind you. You only looked up when you noticed Duncan had stopped talking.

“Ah, (Y/N), glad you could join us,” he said. You thought Duncan was being sarcastic until you made eye contact with him; you weren’t positive, but there seemed to be a trace of concern on his face. Or maybe it was wishful thinking.

“Sorry, professor,” you said softly as you made your way to your seat.

“It’s alright. As I was saying…”

Professor Duncan talked about Vygotsky’s “Zone of Proximal Development” for much longer than seemed necessary in a one-hundred-level psychology course. But you didn’t mind so much; you might be a music major, but you had always loved studying psychology. Duncan’s lectures were really interesting—when he was sober. And when he wasn’t, it was at least amusing.

This was normally your favorite non-music class, but you were struggling to focus at the moment. Your mind tends to wander sometimes, especially when you’re in a funk. One minute, you’re thinking about how nice Britta’s hair looked that morning, how Pierce is a terrible person but kind of cracks you up at the same time, being excited about watching _Inspector Spacetime_ with the boys later… When you were feeling particularly horny (that damn PMS), you would have a field day in your head with various men you liked. You’d be lying if you said Duncan never made it into your daydreams. He was certainly cute, but you’d never thought about him like that for more than just a few minutes during a pre-period whirlwind of emotions.

And, just like that, class is over.

You realized you didn’t catch a single word of the lecture or write anything down. Dammit. Studying for the next test was not going to be easy without your usual color-coded notes. Oh well.

You quickly packed up your things and headed towards the door—you didn’t like to be the last one in the classroom. But a voice stopped you.

“(Y/N),” Professor Duncan called out. You turned around. “Hang back for a minute, please.”

Your stomach did a flip. Was he actually mad at you for being late? You had never seen him talk to any of his other students for not making it to class on time. And, of course, he was hardly one to judge.

When the last student left, Duncan closed the door before positioning himself in front of you, leaning back on the teacher’s desk. He seemed quite sober, which was nice, you supposed. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but he paused and furrowed his eyebrows.

“You look nervous,” he said. “You’re not in trouble or anything, if that’s what it is.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief. “Yeah, sorry for being late. Bad morning.”

“I’ve been there more than a few times,” Duncan said with a nod. Ah, hangovers. “However, it’s a bit out of character for you.” He looked up and cocked an eyebrow.

“Hmm?” What was he getting at?

“(Y/N)... your grades have been dropping a bit, too. And your papers aren’t as clean as they were at the beginning of the semester.” Your stomach turned again, and Duncan was giving you an actual, undeniably concerned expression. “You’re normally pretty engaged in class as well, but I don’t think I saw you look up once today.”

“Um, I’m sorry… I still have a B, right?” you asked. You hadn’t gotten a B since you were in middle school, but it was still an acceptable grade in your book.

“Yes, and normally I’d say that’s great. But you were the highest grade in the class _by far_ up until last week,” Duncan said. “Oh, um, don’t tell anyone I said that. I’m not supposed to talk about other students’ grades. Or hint at them, I suppose.”

You gave him a quick nod.

“The point is, having a B in my class is just fine, but I get the feeling there’s something else going on.”

“... I guess I haven’t been feeling too well,” you admitted, staring down at your tennis shoes. “I don’t mean to slack off.”

“I don’t think you’re slacking, actually. But I do think you might benefit from some outside help,” Duncan said. You looked back up at him in surprise. No one had ever recommended you receive tutoring before. “Whether you need to ask some questions about the material or you just need someone to talk to—I _am_ a licensed psychologist—you’re free to come find me.”

You blinked, processing what your professor was saying. He wasn’t _really_ suggesting a tutor. He probably knew you had no trouble actually understanding and remembering the material when you were up for it. You wondered if you could trust him enough to tell him what was actually going on.

“My office hours are in the syllabus,” Duncan said, standing up straight and moving behind the desk to grab a disheveled stack of papers. “My office is in room, um… well, the room number is in the syllabus, too.”

“Can I come in tonight? I have study group at four, but after that…” You couldn’t believe what you were saying. You were normally very reserved and private about the things that were causing your grades to slip up. What the hell were you supposed to say to him later?

“Yeah, sure, I’ll be here,” Duncan said with a nod and a soft smile. “I’ll see you then.”

“Um, okay… bye,” you said as he left. You were now standing alone in the middle of the empty classroom, still processing what just happened. The last time you agreed to do some sort of therapy… it was dumb. Didn’t help at all. You had practically sworn off therapy. But now you had stupidly locked yourself into whatever this was.

Goddammit.

And why the hell did he care so much about _your_ well-being, anyway?


	2. Breaking the Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific chapter warning: mentions of suicidal thoughts and other mental health disorders, nothing is described in detail
> 
> Thank you guys SO so much for reading and supporting this fic so far!! Your comments and kudos literally made my heart flutter <3

By the time study group rolled around, you were starting to feel a bit better. More sociable. More like your usual, chipper self. The group noticed almost as soon as you walked in.

“Hey guys,” you said with a soft smile. Everyone was there except for Jeff and Pierce.

“(Y/N)! You seem to be in a better mood!” Britta said happily. But suddenly, her smile dropped a bit. “... did you talk about it with someone?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh, good!” Britta said much too quickly. “I mean… it’s not good that you didn’t talk about your feelings, but… um...”

“But at least she didn’t talk about them with someone that isn’t you?” Jeff said as he walked in.

Britta’s mouth popped open into a familiar, offended expression as the sound of stifled laughter filled the room.

“How did you even hear what I was saying when you weren’t in here?” Britta asked.

“Not important,” Jeff said. Britta opened her mouth to speak— “but what _is_ important is that (Y/N) is feeling better.”

“Thanks,” you started, “and thank you guys for trying to help me yesterday… I’m sorry I walked out on you all. I just needed some time alone.”

“No, we’re sorry we got nosy,” Annie said. “And by trying to fix your problems, we really only made you feel worse…”

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t say that,” you said, looking around the table at everyone. “Really, guys. Thanks.”

A general hum of ‘you’re welcome’s and ‘hooray!’s filled the room, and a content energy fell over the group. 

“So, what are you all doing tonight after study group?” you asked the table.

“Abed and I are gonna watch a Joe Pesci movie tonight!” Troy said.

“We’re not sure which one yet, I’ve just been thinking about mob tropes a lot lately,” Abed said. “And _The Godfather_ is too long for Troy.”

“And too _confusing_.”

“Abed, please don’t do that thing where you start acting out movies in real life,” Shirley said (in her usual singsong voice, despite her concern).

“Yeah, maybe lay off the mobster movies for… well, for-ever,” Jeff chimed in.

“Don’t worry, I won’t kill anyone,” Abed said.

The air suddenly felt a little tense.

“Well, _I_ am going to reconnect with my old friend, Eartha Kitt!” Pierce announced proudly. “It’s been a little while since—”

“Wait, Pierce, when did you get here?!” Jeff asked the question on everybody’s mind.

“What do you mean? I walked in right before you did!”

“Oooh…” the table muttered in unison.

“And you didn’t let me finish,” Pierce continued. “It’s been a little while since I had sex with Eartha Kitt on an airplane, but I’m going to call her up tonight and see if she’s available this weekend. There’s no way she’d forget the _mindblowing_ sex we had!”

Everyone scrunched their noses in disgust. Pierce’s language was never surprising, but you were never really desensitized to it, either.

“Pierce, Eartha Kitt died back in, like, 2008,” you reminded him.

“Oh.” He looked genuinely sad about it, but you didn’t get the chance to comfort him.

“I’m, um, staying over at Britta’s place while the boys watch their _scary_ mob movie,” Annie said, giving Britta a pointed look.

“Wait, what?” Britta clearly wasn’t in on her own evening plans.

“Don’t you remember?” Annie sounded a little frantic—again, no surprises there. “I’m going to help you clean and maybe even redecorate your apartment tonight while Troy and Abed watch their scary mob movie that might give them the urge to commit criminal acts!”

“Oh, um, right!” Britta said with a conspicuous wink. “But seriously, my apartment does not need any kind of decorating.”

“Britta, come on. It’s...”

“It’s _minimalist!_ ”

“I didn’t know Jackson Pollock was a minimalist…”

“Guys, please,” Jeff interrupted, stopping an argument from escalating yet again.

“Fine. Then what are you doing, Mr. Too-Cool-For-School?” Britta asked.

“If you _must_ know, I’m hooking up with this cute girl I met at The Ballroom last week.”

“ _Jeffrey!_ ” Shirley exclaimed.

“Sorry, Britta insisted.”

“I did not!”

“Whatever.”

The table finally fell silent for a second. You knew what was coming next.

“(Y/N), what are you doing tonight?” Annie asked.

“Nothing really… I think I’m going to make my favorite dinner: chicken kiev with rice!” You felt hungry just thinking about it.

“... What’s a kiev?” Troy asked.

“It’s breaded chicken stuffed with butter. The butter goes great with the rice, and you can stuff the chicken with other things, too.”

“ _Woah_ , why haven’t I had that before?! It sounds awesome! Can I get it stuffed with Let’s potato chips?”

“No, but I can make you and Abed kievs next time we watch _Inspector Spacetime_ ,” you said cheerfully. Troy and Abed nodded towards each other in approval. Then you remembered something. “Oh, and I’m supposed to go see Professor Duncan before I leave, too.”

Jeff and Britta seemed to perk up. “What? Why?” Britta asked.

“Well, I have him for psychology.”

“Yeah, we know that. But why did he ask to see you?” Jeff asked.

You suddenly got quiet. “He noticed my grades were slipping a little…”

“Oh, (Y/N)!” Annie exclaimed, feeling a strong surge of empathy.

“And he noticed the same thing you guys did—that I seemed to be down more and more lately… and I wasn’t even taking notes in class this morning.”

Annie seemed to be having an aneurism next to you, and you could only assume she was so emotional about it because your studiousness normally rivaled hers.

“He said I could go see him for help with the lesson or to just talk about how I’m feeling. He is a licensed psychologist,” you said innocently. But your naïveté was met with both a sigh from Jeff and a pitying look from Britta.

“(Y/N), I’m sorry, but…” Britta hesitated.

“The only students Duncan invites to his “free therapy sessions” are girls he wants to sleep with,” Jeff finally said.

Your stomach sunk. “Oh.”

“Yeah, he made me do a few sessions with him a while back,” Britta said. Your stomach somehow sunk further. “But don’t worry, he’s not overtly creepy like some of the other professors. If he hits on you, just say you’re not interested and he’ll lay off.”

“Or just don’t go,” Jeff said matter-of-factly.

“I mean…” you thought for a second. “I trust your guys' judgment, but he seemed pretty genuine when I talked to him.”

“Well, you thought I seemed pretty genuine when you first met me, too, and I was just playing nice to sleep with Britta. Men are just like that,” Jeff said. “And keep in mind that Duncan and I are good drinking buddies.”

“Maybe (Y/N) is into him?” Annie suggested.

The table stared at you yet again, awaiting your response.

“No, he’s a professor,” you said firmly.

_“That’s_ your only objection?” Troy asked.

“Sweetie, you can do so much better!” Shirley said.

“And what about the fact that he’s a _raging_ alcoholic?” Britta reminded you.

“Yeah, that’s not… great,” you said. “Look, guys, I wasn’t going to get with him anyway. I just want to see if he can help me figure out why I’ve been, um… in a funk.”

“Alright, but don’t come crying to us if he’s piss-drunk when you go in there,” Jeff said.

\-----------------------------------

Duncan’s office was easy to find—aside from forgetting his own office number, he must have forgotten that his own name was on the door, too. You hoped he was still sober. You also hoped your friends were wrong about him and why he would be so nice to you, but you felt just as doubtful about that as the sober thing. There was only one way to find out.

His door was open a crack, but you knocked anyway.

“Come in!” a familiar British voice called out.

You opened the door and gave the professor a light smile. “Hi, Professor Duncan.”

“(Y/N)! How are you?”

“Better.”

“That’s good,” he said, standing up from behind his desk. “You can close the door behind you. And make yourself comfortable.”

You closed the door and carefully sat in the ugly blue couch next to his desk. It may have been hideous, but it was very soft. Reminding you of your bed again.

“So…” Duncan moved a small chair in front of you. You suddenly noticed he was also carrying a clipboard and a pen. “Where do you want to start?” he asked, plopping himself down across from you.

“... Start with what?” You were genuinely confused.

“Well, I know you don’t _actually_ need help with any of the material from class,” he started. “You’re smart, you’ll get it.” You felt yourself blush a little bit. “So, I assumed you came to talk to a _psychologist_ as opposed to a professor.”

“Oh. Well, yes.”

“Good. So, my question stands: Where do you want to start?”

“Um…” You thought for a second. Do you talk about when it all began? That was a while ago, and it would take a _long_ time to explain. How had your other therapists always started? “Aren’t there a bunch of forms I’m supposed to fill out for this?”

Duncan’s eyes wandered up towards the ceiling. “Well, technically, yes. But no one here actually looks at or cares about those.”

“Oh.”

“I figured we’d just forgo the paperwork.” Duncan waved a hand dismissively and leaned back in his chair, looking you in the eyes. “But I can assume that this isn’t your first time working with a mental health professional of some sort, yes?”

You noted that he was definitely at least halfway sober. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Are you being treated by anyone right now?”

“No.”

Duncan jotted something down on the clipboard. “And why’s that?”

You thought for a second. “I didn’t like my last therapist.”

“How many have you had?”

“I… think I lost count.” He raised an eyebrow. “At least four or five.”

“How old were you when you saw someone for the first time?”

“... Twelve.” You felt a knot form in your stomach, but you weren’t entirely sure why.

Duncan leaned forward and started writing again. “What specific disorders were you being treated for?” he asked, eyes still on the clipboard in front of him. “Officially diagnosed or not.”

“Anxiety and depression.”

“GAD?”

“Yeah. And panic disorder, for a little while.”

“Okay. Any history of suicidal thoughts?”

“Um.” You hated talking about this. You hadn’t told any of your past therapists about it. “No comment?”

Duncan looked up at you again with a more serious expression. He stopped writing. “You can’t exactly answer that question with ‘no comment.’”

“Fine. Yes.”

“Alright. Legally, I have to tell you that everything you say is confidential— _unless_ you become a danger to yourself or others. Got it?” You had never seen Duncan look this serious; you honestly didn’t think he had the mere _ability_ to be this serious. But you supposed it was part of his job.

“Got it. But it won’t be a problem.”

He softened a little upon your confirmation. “Are you familiar with the difference between ‘active’ and ‘passive’ suicidal thoughts?”

Basically therapy 101. “Yep.”

“Which do you experience?”

“It depends.”

“Okay, how about right now?

“Passive.”

“That’s good,” Duncan said. “Well, obviously not good that you’re having them. But good they’re not active.”

You actually chuckled a bit. It almost felt good acknowledging it all out loud. Almost.

“This is all important background information, but what’s been bothering you more recently?” Duncan asked. He studied you for a second before clarifying, “If you’re ready to share, that is.”

“If I’m ready?” You remembered a therapist who would get annoyed when you had trouble spitting out what was on your mind.

“Well, I can tell you’re a bit tense.”

You suddenly noticed how tight your shoulders were, how your hands were balled up in your lap to the point that your knuckles were white, and how those hands were uncomfortably sweaty. You weren’t sure how much you would actually be able to share with Duncan, which made you feel bad. “Um, sorry,” you said impulsively.

“... What for?” Duncan asked with a confused expression.

“For, um, being tense?”

There he goes again with the eyebrow. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Well, I have trouble opening up to people,” you admitted. “I don’t want to waste your time.”

“That’s not a problem,” Duncan said with a shrug. “It’s really best not to get too overwhelmed while doing this. These sessions don’t cost you anything, so we can take breaks or go as slow as you want.”

You nodded, staring at your hands fidgeting in your lap.

“What would you like to do?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. You definitely felt less confident than you had when you first walked in. Maybe you should just give up on this whole thing; it had never helped you in the past, and who cares if you were getting a few B’s? You were getting along just fine overall.

“Let’s take a break, then,” Duncan said, standing up. He set the clipboard down on his desk and walked up to his filing cabinet on the side of his very small, very cramped office. Wasn’t he the _head_ of the psychology department?

“This always helps me when I’m feeling tense,” Duncan said, opening the top drawer of the cabinet. What was he—oh, yep, there it is. Booze.

He pulled out two stemmed glasses along with the bottle of red wine. “Oh, um, shit,” he muttered, suddenly turning around to face you. “You’re not a snitch, are you?”

__

“No!” You couldn’t help but laugh.

__

“Ah, good,” Duncan said with a small sigh. He set the glasses down on his desk and turned the wine bottle around so that you could see the label: pinot noir. “Would you like some?”

__

You knew this was probably against the rules, but… come on. It’s Greendale. “I’m usually a pink wine person, but sure. Just a little bit.”

__

“Ugh, really? I shouldn’t be wasting this on the likes of you,” Duncan smirked, pouring wine in each glass. He gave you a little bit more than you would have liked, but it was still a manageable amount.

__

“Do you normally drink with students?” Your confidence was clearly coming back.

__

“Mmm, no, not regularly.” He sat back in his desk chair. “I usually don’t drink until later. And since I’m drinking now, it would have been rude not to offer you some.”

__

“Well, thanks.” You took a sip of the wine; it was alright. As you let the taste sit in your mouth for a moment, you thought back to study group, realizing that Duncan might be hitting on you right now. And you’re enabling it—maybe even _encouraging_ it—by having a drink with him. Whoops.

__

You looked up from your glass to find Duncan looking at you intently with soft brown eyes. Somehow, his glass was already half empty. “So, (Y/N),” he began, casually throwing his feet on top of the desk and swirling his glass, “what brings a student like you to Greendale?”

__

You could only assume what he meant by that. “Well, I applied for a lot of different schools and got into them just fine, but Greendale was the only one that would accept me into its music program,” you explained. “My high school’s music program was, um, garbage.”

__

“Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Greendale’s music department is hardly Julliard.”

__

“Yeah, so I gathered. But it’s better than no music department and no music degree,” you mused. “And I’ve been improving.”

__

“Fair enough. What do you play?”

__

“Saxophone, mainly.”

__

“Mainly?”

__

“I can play a couple of other things, too. Trumpet, guitar, trombone, piano—”

__

“Woah, slow down, Mozart,” Duncan laughed. “Don’t need the whole list, but that _is_ quite impressive.”

__

You smiled; the compliment made up for the slight jab. “Professor, what brought _you_ to Greendale?”

__

He took another large swig of wine before answering. “Oh, various irrelevant circumstances. The _real_ question is, why have I _stayed?_ ” You both chucked at that. “Where else can you get away with stuff like this?”

__

“True, true,” you said, raising your glass in agreement. You drank the last of your wine, setting the empty glass down on Duncan’s desk.

__

“Feeling better?” he asked.

__

“Yeah. I don’t think it was the wine, though,” you said. “I barely had any.”

__

“Sometimes, you just need to take a step back from everything before you can really take it on properly.”

__

Another surprise; since when has your alcoholic professor been _profound?_ “Thank you,” you said, hoping it sounded really genuine. You couldn’t help smiling again. You also couldn’t help noticing the cute toothy grin Duncan gave in return.

__

Wait—did you just think _cute?_

__

You needed to get out of there.

__

“Welp, I’m going to head out,” you said, standing up from the couch and wiping your hands on your jeans.

__

“Alright. You’re welcome to come by whenever,” Duncan said, standing up. “Actually, this same time after your little Jeff-Winger-cult-meetings is just fine. No one else is really around.”

__

To your further surprise, Duncan reached out to shake your hand. You took it. “Thanks again, professor.”

__

“No problem. See you next time.”

__

You weren’t one hundred percent certain, but you _swear_ he winked at you when he said that.

__

Fuck.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The romantic buildup is going a little slower than I originally intended, but never fear! It's time to pick up the pace!  
> ...Or will they have to endure some angst and conflict first?  
> Not even the author knows mwahahah


	3. Proven Wrong

The group was going to ask about your meeting with Duncan. It was inevitable. You were almost looking forward to it—to proving them wrong, to telling them that he was completely sober and helpful. You were expecting to talk to them all at once at your next study session… as opposed to having to justify yourself on the fly while huffing and puffing in an attempt to keep up with Jeff Winger’s long-legged pace through the halls of Greendale. But when do things ever go as planned, anyway?

“So, how was your date with Duncan?” Jeff asked you from behind. You were walking calmly to your saxophone lesson until he startled you.

“Jeff!”

“Walk with me,” he insisted. You had no choice but to follow.

“... It wasn’t a date!” you said, trying (and failing) not to sound defensive. “We just talked about my, um… mental health. It was a normal therapy session.”

Okay, now _that_ was a flat-out lie. Unless a silent majority of mental health professionals serve alcohol, and you had only been unlucky enough to avoid them all until now.

“Right, and he didn’t flirt with you at _all?_ ” Jeff asked.

You hesitated. Come on, you already lied once. “Um, not in the technical sense—”

“Yeah, technical-sense my ass.”

Dammit.

“It was hard to tell!”

“Are you being serious?”

“Yes! And _slow down!_ ” you panted, barely keeping up. Jeff, who had nearly a foot of height on you, finally stopped, allowing you a moment to catch your breath.

“Sorry, I forgot you’re practically a hobbit,” he said quickly. “Forgive me for doubting you, but Duncan is really terrible at the whole subtlety thing when it comes to girls.”

“I swear, he didn’t make a move on me like that,” you said, looking Jeff directly in the eyes. You knew he believed you before he had the chance to admit it.

He looked to the ceiling in dismay. “Dammit, Duncan, of _all_ the times to finally take my awesome advice!” he exclaimed into the air. No one else in the busy hallway even looked up.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, which told you your lesson was supposed to start in just two minutes. “Jeff, I really need to go—”

“No, (Y/N), you really _need_ to be careful,” he said, grabbing you by the shoulders for dramatic effect. Although his demeanor was intense, his grip was surprisingly gentle. “If Duncan starts _actually_ using the romantic advice I’ve been giving him all these years... Those techniques are irresistible. You’re going to end up falling in love with him.”

“What?!” You wanted to laugh, but you could tell Jeff was being absolutely serious.

After another pause, he finally let go of you and took a step back. “I’m sorry to have inadvertently led you to your own destruction like this.”

“Seriously, what are you _talking_ about?”

“Duncan is not good for you.”

“Sorry, but how do _you_ know what’s good for me?” Never mind being late for your lesson—this was starting to piss you off. Jeff needed to mind his own damn business for once.

“Duncan isn’t good for anybody!”

“Isn’t he your _friend?_ ”

“Yes! But that doesn’t mean I want my other friends to date him!” Jeff leaned in closer. “He’s a funny guy, and I support him. But he’s also a British creep with a drinking problem.”

“Jeff. Listen to me,” you started, trying to keep your cool. “You’re not being a good friend to _either_ of us right now. I can decide for myself who I will or won’t go on a date with. And as for Duncan…” you paused. Jeff’s eyes darted to the ground, his mouth closing into a slight frown. “No, he’s not perfect. And neither are you. _No one_ is. But being flawed does _not_ automatically make you unworthy of basic respect. Or a significant other, for that matter.”

You stopped, but Jeff still wouldn’t meet your eye. He stood up straight and shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

“And seriously…” your face curled into a countenance of disgust. “Would he still call you his friend if he could hear you right now?”

You turned your back on him without another word, storming away in the direction of the band room. You didn’t give Jeff the satisfaction of looking back, but you imagined he was still standing in the middle of the hallway, looking all pensive and guilty, like a stupid _dick_ , even by the time you rounded the next corner.

\-----------------------------------

You didn’t bother going to study group that evening. Jeff could tell the others about everything without you, considering he cared so damn much. Once four o’clock rolled around, you found yourself walking through the quiet halls towards Duncan’s office instead of the study room. Before that afternoon, you had planned on waiting until next week before bothering him again. Now you hoped Duncan could help you process some of your frustration… without you having to tell him exactly what Jeff said, of course. Even if Jeff was an asshole sometimes, you would never be so mad as to ruin their friendship behind his back.

As you knocked on the door to Duncan’s office, you felt a nervous flutter in your stomach that you couldn’t quite place. Like the kind of excited jitteriness that comes from asking someone out that you _know_ likes you back, or from receiving a heartfelt compliment.

Huh… weird.

You were snapped out of your personal reflection by the sound of conspicuous shuffling and clanking coming from inside the office.

“Professor Duncan? Are you alright?” You poked your head into the room to make sure your psychology professor wasn’t being assaulted or something. Luckily, he was only attempting to conceal both a glass of alcohol and its respective bottle. Duncan was in his desk chair, bent forward so that the alcohol in his hands was hidden behind the desk. It might have been somewhat believable if his filing cabinet wasn’t visibly ajar, leaving the top of an unopen wine bottle fully exposed.

“Oh, (Y/N), it’s just you,” he said, blowing a heavy sigh of relief and sitting back up. He set his bottle of whiskey and empty glass on the desk. “I thought you had study group?”

“Well, I did…” You closed the door behind you as several questions popped into your mind. One of those questions was about wanting to fix his disheveled hair, but you thought it was kind of adorable like that, in a way… wait, no, table that thought for a better time. “I thought you normally don’t drink this early.”

“Ah, yes, well. ‘Normally’ is a, um—” his hand flew up to his mouth as if to cover a cough or a hiccup— “relative term.”

“Relative to what?”

“Relative to whether I am currently taking another stab at sobriety… or I’m failing miserably.”

You stared at him, not sure whether to be concerned or upset. Or both.

“Look, I’m sorry you caught me in the middle of one of my many relapses, but don’t worry. I can still psychology.”

You didn’t have time to question the use of ‘psychology’ as a verb before Duncan shot up from his seat. You gasped as he swayed backward for a second, but he managed to regain his balance using his desk.

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to do much of anything right now,” you said, taking a step forward. “How much have you even had?!”

“Mmm, good question.”

You were about to object until a set of car keys on the shelf next to you caught your eye. “Wait, you’re not planning on driving home, right?”

Duncan shook his head. “Nope, already learned my lesson on that one.” He gestured towards the blue couch. “There’s a reason I still keep that ugly old thing. I swear, it has the _medical_ ability to prevent hangovers.

“Dude, seriously?”

Duncan blinked. “Did you just call me _dude?_ ”

“Does that _matter?_ ”

“I’m your professor!”

_“You can’t even stand up straight.”_

There was a tense pause. “How are you judging me right now? We literally shared a drink in this same office last night!”

He had a point.

“I just…” You sighed, thinking about all of the psychology classes and small talk that led up to this point. “I know you’re a teacher and I’m a student, but I kind of looked up to you. And I wanted you to help me, but I also wanted to get to know you... And prove to people that you’re actually a good professor and a good person.”

You really, really hoped that sounded heartfelt instead of creepy.

Duncan’s expression suddenly changed, and you were surprised to be met with such sad and tired eyes. They didn’t look like that yesterday.

“(Y/N), I know what people say about me. Nine times out of ten, it’s a less-than-glowing review. The other one-tenth includes low blows to Her Majesty the Queen or my alcoholism. But you were right about one thing.”

Duncan walked up to you with surprising control. There was no way he had sobered up in the little amount of time that had passed, but he was making a visible effort to act like it.

“I really did want to help you.”

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest. He was close to you now—probably a lot closer than he meant to be—and it was making you feel things you really weren’t ready to deal with. But it was, undeniably, _good_.

“... Really? You weren’t just trying to hit on me?” You just wanted to be sure.

“Really,” Duncan nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking you in the eyes. “And I really am sorry about all this. I know I have a problem.”

“Hmph, don’t we all,” you smirked. “You did say you’re at least _trying_ to sober up. I think that’s a good start.”

“Well, I’ll let you know if it ever actually happens,” Duncan sighed, waving a hand in the air dismissively while walking back to his desk and sitting down. “I can’t say I’m optimistic.”

You thought for a moment about what would be considered out-of-bounds in a teacher/student relationship. At this point, it wasn’t much. “Maybe _you_ could use some outside help.”

Duncan gave you a quizzical look. “You think I’ve never been to an AA meeting? Those things don’t work on me.”

“No, I figured as much,” you laughed. “But if you’re going to try to help me, at least let me try to help you. If you’re alright with that.”

He appeared to consider it for a moment. “I have no idea how you’re going to do that, but alright. As long as “helping” me doesn’t include telling the Dean.”

“I _told_ you, I don’t snitch.”

“You better not. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“Mmm…” Duncan leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I don’t know, I’ll come up with something _very_ mentally traumatizing. I’ll have to check the DSM-4.”

He could still talk about psychology while dozing into a whiskey-induced slumber. Amazing.

“Tell me about it tomorrow, then,” you said, opening the door behind you. “Have a good night, professor.”

“Please, call me Ian,” he said, opening his eyes. You turned around, surprised. “Oh, come on. I think we’ve passed that level of formality at this point.”

“True,” you conceded. “Have a good night, Ian.”

He was peacefully asleep by the time you closed the door.

\-----------------------------------

You pushed through the double doors of Greendale’s front entrance with the intent to finally go home. However, the silhouette of a tall, overly-well-groomed man leaning on an outside pillar stopped you.

“Jeff?”

He turned around to face you as if he had been waiting there for a little while. “(Y/N).”

“Did you skip study group, too?”

“No, we ended early. Not a whole lot to talk about,” he said, walking up to you. You stared up at him, he stared down at you, neither of you sure who was going to make a move first. Then, in unison:

“I’m sorry.”

You both blinked and relaxed your composure a bit at the mutual confession. “Um, you were right,” Jeff began. “I’m being a really bad friend. I tried to _control_ you under the guise of _helping_ you. And Duncan deserves a better friend, too, whether I actually believed those things I said about him or not. Which, for the record, I don’t. He’s a good guy.”

Your turn. “Actually… you were right, too.”

Jeff must not have been expecting that; he looked slightly taken back.

“I just came from Duncan’s office. He was pretty wasted.”

“Well, that’s not surprising—” you shot Jeff a look before he could go any further. He wisely assumed an expression of sympathy that you hoped was at least a little genuine. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). Are you alright?”

“Yeah, nothing really happened. We talked it out. Like you said, he _is_ still a good guy.” You smiled softly to yourself. “We’re going to try to help each other through our shortcomings.”

“... How exactly do you plan on helping a chronic alcoholic out of the addiction he’s been fighting for at _least_ a decade? Or is there a different shortcoming you’re referring to, like the fact that he’s from England?”

You sighed, deciding to let the sarcasm slide for now. “I didn’t really think that far ahead.”

You started walking down the stairs towards the school parking lot. Jeff was not far behind. “And if he’s a psychologist, what are you going to think of that he hasn’t already tried?”

You suddenly realized something. “Well, for starters, he’s probably only ever faced this problem _by himself_. Aside from a few AA meetings, but those don’t count.”

“Duncan’s been to _multiple_ AA meetings?”

Whoops. “You didn't hear that from me!” you said.

“Sure.”

That wasn’t exactly the reassuring response you were hoping for. At this point, the two of you had made it to your car, so Jeff wished you a quick goodnight before heading for his Lexus. You were about to unlock your car door until you remembered one last thing.

“Jeff!”

He stopped and turned around.

“... you’re not a bad friend,” you said. “Thank you for caring about me.”

Jeff smirked. “For the record, I don’t care about anything.” Then, much more sincerely: “...thank you.”

You gave each other one last friendly nod and parted ways.

On the ride home, you thought about eating mac and cheese, listening to your favorite playlist while finishing your homework, going to bed with fresh sheets, and getting to see Ian in class the next morning. You wondered what adorable sweater-vest-dress-shirt combo he would be wearing.

...Not that it mattered.


	4. Two Weeks Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little bit longer to write; I was in a rut for a couple of days, and there's more exposition in this part than the others, but I'm back! Thank you all SO much for your support, and I hope you enjoy this update!

One minute, Ian was standing just about two feet in front of you. The next, his lips were on yours, and your body was _ablaze._

It all felt so intense and so right… you were a bit dizzy. Ian wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer into him. Your hands hurriedly went up towards his head, one caressing his face, the other settling into his hair, which was just as soft as you had always shamefully imagined it. But there was no shame anymore. Just the two of you.

He was letting you set the pace: soft at first, but it really didn’t take long for tongues to get involved and for hands to get… well, handsy. You tried savoring every little detail for your future memory: the surprising gentleness of Ian’s lips, the way his (rather large) nose gently pushed into the side of your face, the tickle of his fingers moving over your back…

You suddenly realized something. Making out is a highly sensory experience. That’s kind of the point. All of your senses should be involved. So, why did your _hearing_ seem off? You felt like you could hear vague background noises, but nothing was clear, not even the man you were kissing. And you couldn’t seem to _taste_ him, either.

Something wasn’t right.

You broke the kiss and pulled Ian into a hug, taking a break to make sense of the situation. You kept your eyes closed, trying to focus on your surroundings with your senses. But the dizziness suddenly got worse. And Ian felt oddly stiff all of a sudden, like you were hugging a mannequin instead of a living man.

Then, out of nowhere, you heard something: the chorus of “Kiss From a Rose,” _blaring_ in your ears, making you jump so high into the air that you lept _all the way out_ of Ian’s arms.

…Wait.

Your eyes popped open as you hurriedly rolled over to the other side of your bed to turn off your phone alarm. This disturbed your cat, who had been sleeping on top of your feet until you rudely interrupted her nap. It was 7:30 am, time for you to wake up and get ready for another fun-filled day at Greendale. Your first class was psychology. You know, the class with the professor you _really_ want to make out with.

Aw, _fuck._

\-----------------------------------

You had more time to think about everything as you drove to school. That dream had your heart _soaring._ The absolute intensity and warmth of kissing Ian… you had no idea that he, or _anyone,_ could make you feel like that. Then again, emotions in dreams are always a bit different than they are in the waking world… but you were obviously awake while driving, and you were still feeling some of those strong emotions.

It had been about two weeks since your first therapy session with Ian, and you were visiting him nearly every day after study group. Your meetings were usually informal. Sometimes, the two of you would share a drink, or the conversation would verge into something completely irrelevant. That was always fun. Ian even let you show off your professional-grade photos from the zoo; taking pictures of animals with your DSLR camera was one of your favorite things to do, making the nearby zoo a great place to unwind. You offered to show your pictures to the study group, but only Shirley could manage to even _feign_ interest (Britta was seriously excited until then she realized the pictures only included regular animals without cute clothes on). When you mentioned your photos to Ian, he actually _asked_ to see them!

Besides your random conversations, the actual therapy part also seemed to be helping. There were still a lot of unresolved issues, but Ian was able to point out some of the ways your brain could subconsciously bend your own perceptions. Like that time in high school when you blamed yourself for almost killing your friend by making him laugh too hard, but it really wasn’t your fault that he had severe asthma (or that your Pictionary drawing was unbearably hilarious). Or when you frequently assumed that other people hated you based on nothing but conjecture. There was a technical name for those thoughts. “Unreasonable thinking patterns,” or something like that.

He was _really_ drunk once or twice. When that happened, he would let you would take whatever booze he had left, and you locked it back up in his cabinet. From a student’s standpoint, there wasn’t much you could help him with beyond that. You thought that _maybe_ there was a root cause (or causes) to the addiction, and if you could pinpoint _that,_ there would be a more practical way to deal with it. Unfortunately, you didn’t know much about Ian’s past. Nor could you ask. But he had let one thing slip while under-the-influence: he came to the United States looking less for the Land of Opportunity and more for an escape from his parents. But that was all you knew.

And now, after all of these good, _platonic_ experiences, you were _actually_ falling for him. Unbelievable. You couldn’t date your fucking professor! Even if there was a way to do it without breaking any rules, the pressure from other students and the Dean would probably ruin the whole thing. As you pulled into the Greendale parking lot, you considered how you would continue to interact with Ian. You had serious doubts about your ability to act like everything was fine and dandy.

The worst part of it all... if you _did_ ask him out, he _might actually say yes._

That fact alone made the temptation to try a relationship with him irresistible, and you knew it. You parked your car and let out a long sigh, reaching a final decision. There was only one thing you could do.

\-----------------------------------

Paying attention in psychology class was, needless to say, difficult. You were able to jot down the main points of the lecture, but that was about it. As Ian spoke, you focused less on his words and more on his voice itself; even if his accent was considered homely by British standards, you loved it (hell, British accents are all so similar, anyway). The sound of his voice calmed you down momentarily… until he announced that class was dismissed.

You didn’t bother putting your notebook and binder in your backpack. Feeling too anxious to sit still any longer, you grabbed your books and made a beeline for the front of the room. Ian had his back turned as he erased the chalkboard.

“Professor Duncan,” you called out as you approached the desk. You had to call him that in front of anybody else.

“(Y/N), how can I help you?” he said, erasing the last part of the board. When Ian turned around to face you, you made eye contact only briefly. Then, out of nowhere, his glance drifted downwards and his eyes widened. You couldn’t tell if he was surprised or excited about something, but you didn’t actually register what was going on. You were too focused on the task at hand.

“Well, I was wondering if I could speak to you in your office… when’s your next class?”

There was a pause. Ian was still staring at… something. You waited for a response, but all you got was, “...Hmm?”

“Did… did you hear me?”

Wait, what the hell was he looking at? Your brain finally snapped out of its anxious focus, and then you realized.

He was staring at your boobs.

You had gone clothes shopping with Britta and Annie last weekend, and Annie had convinced you to get this super deep v-neck top (which earned both you and Annie a rant from Britta about the moral ambiguities of dressing up like a sex-object and upholding sexist male ideals for the sake of intercourse). You mostly bought it because it was your favorite color, a deep royal blue, and you liked that it buttoned up at the top. The fact that the shirt made your cleavage look _really_ good was a perk you had forgotten about since you purchased it. Up until now, that is.

_“Dude.”_ You lifted your books to cover yourself.

Ian looked back up at you, eyes now wide with embarrassment. To your immense amusement, his face turned _bright_ red. “Oh, God I’m so sorry,” he stammered.

…He was lucky he was adorable.

“Uh, it’s fine. Do you have another class right now?”

“No.”

“Then can we go to your office?”

“Y-yes, of course.” He scrambled to his desk and shoved the usual messy stack of papers into his bag. Once he had that together, he looked back up at you and the thick books in your arms. “Um, do you want help with your boobs—books. _**Books.**_ Ah, _shit.” ___

____

Jesus Christ, now Ian looked like he was about to have a stroke. You wanted to say something, but he muttered a “let’s go” and briskly walked out of the classroom before you could do anything else. You had to speed-walk to keep up with him (again, men and their stupid long legs) as you both navigated the halls towards his office. Not that it was far away.

____

It wasn’t long before you both arrived; Ian unlocked the door and held it open for you. What a gentleman.

____

You sat down on the couch, the door closed, and Ian was running his mouth before you could blink. “Look, (Y/N), I’m _really_ sorry about what happened back there. That was inappropriate, and even if you _are,_ um... no, I mean, I just want you to know that—"

____

_“Ian.”_

____

He shut up.

____

“It’s not a big deal,” you said. You were being honest, too. If it had been someone else, you would probably be pissed. But, in this case… considering the way _you_ looked at _him_ during class when you thought he couldn’t see… being upset would make you a hypocrite.

____

“... Are you sure?” Ian asked, subconsciously fiddling with a pen in his hand.

____

“Yes! I forgive you. And come on, you should know by now I’m not going to snitch on you or report you to the Dean.”

____

“No, I know that. I just don’t want you to think I’m a pervert or something,” Ian said, averting his gaze and turning another soft shade of pink.

____

“I don’t think that.”

____

“Um, thanks,” he said with tones of both nervousness and sincerity. He finally relaxed a bit and flashed a gentle smile. “So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

____

Oh, right.

____

It was your turn to nervously avert your gaze. “Well, I was thinking a lot about our therapy sessions, and how I keep getting home really late after them, and my homework has been getting really bad lately…”

____

You made eye contact with Ian as he finally sat down. He didn’t seem to realize where this was going.

____

“I’m really sorry, but I don’t think I can keep doing therapy.”

____

He tilted his head to the side and furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s no good,” he said. “I thought we were making some important progress.”

____

“We were, I just… I really don’t think I have time for it. Music theory has been _slamming_ me with work.”

____

“Isn’t music theory just math for musicians? That should be easy for you lot, considering musicians don’t have to count any higher than four.”

____

“That’s… not what music theory is. I have to write an essay about the use of sonata form in a Mozart piece for tomorrow. And we _do_ count higher than… wait don’t you _play piano?”_

____

“Technically, yes.”

____

“Then how do you not know what six-eight time is?!”

____

“I… kind of forgot about that. But I think we’re getting away from the main point—”

____

“Right, sorry. The point is, I need to make it home earlier so I stay on track with my homework. If my grades start slipping again, it’s going to make me get all depressed again.”

____

“Are you sure this has nothing to do with me being a pervert?” Ian asked with sad, brown, adorable puppy-dog eyes. He _had_ to know how pitiful he looked.

____

You sighed. “No, I _swear_ it doesn’t have to do with you. I enjoy talking to you. But I have to do this.”

____

The part about your essay and lots of music theory homework was true, but you had no shortage of time to complete it all. The truth was, you couldn’t allow yourself to continue fostering this attraction. As much as you inwardly enjoyed Ian’s adorable dorkiness and sexy charm… you had decided in the car earlier that this was unhealthy. And that decision was final.

____

“Well, I’m sorry it has to come to that…” Ian said softly. “You know you’re welcome to come back in here if you find the time.”

____

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a smaller course load next semester,” you said through a strained smile. There was no point in getting his hopes up. “I’ll see you in class, then.”

____

“Sounds good.” Ian smiled and waved as you opened the door to leave, but you could tell he was trying to hide that he was a little hurt. Maybe he could tell you were lying. What if he thought you hated him? What if _he_ hates _you_ now?!

____

… Maybe you should have thought this through a little bit more.

____

As soon as you closed the door and turned around, you were surprised to find the Dean standing _right_ there, very much in your personal space. You actually jumped a little.

____

“Dean Pelton!”

____

“Ah, (Y/N)! What brings you around here?” He seemed quite cheery.

____

“Oh, I just had a meeting with Professor Duncan.”

____

The Dean raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, indicating what could only be suspicious curiosity. “What kind of meeting?”

____

“He was helping me with psychology, but… wait, why do you care?”

____

“Well… here at Greendale, we’re very serious about preventing student-teacher relationships. Especially with young women such as yourself. You know, it’s sort of a magnet for lawsuits.”

____

“Dean, it was just a regular meeting. You know that female students have to talk to their male professors, right? Or, uh female. Or nonbinary, or... You get the point.”

____

“Yes, and while I appreciate your attempt to include all sexualities, we have a _very_ precise measurement system when it comes to determining the potential for students and professors to, you know, _do it—_ ”

____

_“Ew!”_

____

“—based on levels of attraction. You and Professor Duncan are _very_ close together on that list.”

____

“You rate students and teachers based on how _hot_ they are?!”

____

“Precisely!”

____

“So… okay, but there’s no way Duncan and I are at the top of that list.”

____

The Dean laughed really, really hard. A little harder than was necessary. “Haha, no, of course not. But you _are_ pretty much right next to each other on that list. The logic is that people of similar attraction levels tend to, well, attract each other. So we keep a close eye on that.”

____

“... Right. Well, thank you for, um, staying vigilant? This was fun, we should do it again sometime, bye,” you said quickly before walking around the Dean as fast as your short legs would carry you.

____

What a perv. But you couldn’t help being a bit fond of him. He was a _hilarious_ pansexual little perv.

____

\-----------------------------------

____

You hadn’t even been gone for a full minute before Ian heard a soft knock on his office door.

____

“ _Dean_ dong!” Dean Pelton’s shiny dome appeared in the now-open doorway. He chuckled proudly at his own joke. “Anybody home?”

____

“There’s no doorbell,” Ian pointed out, unamused.

____

“I know that. But I couldn’t think of a good pun to go with knocking,” the Dean muttered, coming all the way into the office. “Mind if I close the door?”

____

“Sure. You’re the boss.”

____

“Yes, exactly. I _am_ the boss, here.” The Dean shut the door behind him with a devious smile that Ian _really_ didn’t like. “I’m the boss of you.”

____

Ian gave the Dean an uneasy sideways look. “...I’m aware. That’s why your signature can be found on all of my paychecks.”

____

Suddenly, the Dean rushed forward and slammed his hands on the desk, causing Ian to jump backward and nearly fall out of his rolly office chair. “ _Jesus_ Christ—”

____

“Cut the crap, Ian,” the Dean growled in the deepest, most intimidating voice he could muster. It still sounded pretty pathetic. “I know you keep a stash of alcohol in here. And _you_ know that drinking on campus is _strictly_ against the rules.”

____

Ian’s mouth dropped open in an artificial appearance of offense. “What?! I would _never,_ in my _life,_ even _dream_ of—”

____

“I can see the empty bottle of bourbon in your trash can, you know.”

____

Ian glanced at the garbage can. He had meant to cover that up earlier. Whoops. Ian inhaled deeply, trying to think of something to buy some time or distract him.

____

“Did you see that... ahhhhmmmm... Jeff… got a new shirt?” The Dean immediately perked up. Perfect, now Ian just had to talk _fast._ “I was talking to him yesterday and he was telling me just how much he loves dogs and he that was looking to try something new, something with an animal-print pattern, so I said, um, I said, _oh_ I know _just_ the thing, and I showed him this _dalmatian-print_ button-up shirt, and he got it but it’s definitely a size too small so it looks _really_ tight on him, and it came with this, uh, dog mask to match it and I don’t know, he’s wearing that shirt today, and he was shy about the mask do you think you could convince him to try the mask on with the shirt?”

____

There was a pregnant pause. Then… bingo. To Ian’s marginal discomfort, the Dean’s eyes widened with obvious arousal. “This is _exactly_ like that dream I had,” the Dean said in a near-whisper. “Every last detail.”

____

Ian didn’t stop to consider the implication that he was in the Dean’s dreams. “Um, yes! You should, uh, go find Jeff! Go to him! He needs you!”

____

The Dean did a one-eighty and bolted towards the door, almost running into the coffee table in front of the couch. Ian inwardly congratulated himself as he reached for the doorknob…

____

And then he stopped.

____

Ian gulped as the Dean ever-so-slowly turned back to face him. “Ian…” He took a few steps back towards the desk. “Did you seriously think I would just leave and forget about your little drinking problem?”

____

“Um… Yes. That’s exactly what I had envisioned.”

____

The Dean closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. “How dare you give me hope…” His eyes suddenly popped open. “Why would you play with my emotions like that?!” He looked like he wanted to cry.

____

“You _charged_ at me! Like some sort of animal!”

____

“Only because _you_ are breaking school rules!”

____

“Why do you _care?_ I’m sorry, but people break the rules around here all the time!”

____

The Dean straightened his posture, taking on a more serious mien. “I’m sorry, but when a _student_ makes a complaint, I am forced to take direct action.”

____

Ian gasped, more upset that someone snitched than the fact that he got caught. “Who was it?!”

____

“They asked to remain anonymous.”

____

To the Dean’s surprise, Ian’s face suddenly dropped into an expression of sadness. “...was it (Y/N)?”

____

“What? No,” the Dean said. “...Why, has she seen you drink before?”

____

Ian shrugged. “Since I’m already in trouble, yeah.”

____

The Dean gasped. “You two weren’t drinking _together,_ were you?!”

____

“No!” Ian said perhaps a little too quickly. He didn’t want to get you in trouble, too. “Um, no. She just walked in on me with a glass of wine once… if it wasn’t (Y/N), then who was it?”

____

“I _told_ you, it was an _anonymous_ tip.”

____

Ian stopped to think for a second. Who was the biggest goody-two-shoes on campus?

____

“...It was Annie Edison, wasn’t it?”

____

The Dean sighed. “You know I could fire you for this, right?”

____

“I’d _really_ prefer you didn’t,” Ian said, nervously drumming his fingers on the desk.

____

“Well, maybe I don’t have to. Maybe we can… arrange something?” The Dean smirked.

____

Ian almost threw up in his mouth. “Jesus, Craig, I’m not going to fuck you. If that’s what it takes to keep this job, then _please,_ I’m begging to just fire me.”

____

The Dean rolled his eyes. “No, trust me, _that’s_ never happening.”

____

“Oh. Ouch.”

____

“What do you mean, ouch?! You just said you’d rather be fired than have sex with me!”

____

“Yeah, but I’m _straight,_ ” Ian grumbled, crossing his arms.

____

“Hmm, touché,” the Dean conceded. “But, no. I had a better idea.”

____

“Yes?”

____

“Some day, and that day may never come, I’ll call upon you to do a service for me,” the Dean said, walking into Ian’s bubble of personal space and placing a bony hand on Ian’s shoulder. “But until that day, accept this Forgiveness as a gift on the day of my school dance.”

____

“Um, okay, Brando,” Ian said. “I didn’t know there’s a dance tonight.”

____

“Yes! I was just about to put up the fliers.”

____

“The students don’t know yet? Shouldn’t you have given them more notice?”

____

“I suppose so,” the Dean said, scrunching his nose, “but it’s not like they have lives outside of Greendale, anyway. We’ll still get the usual turnout. Oh, and I expect you to be there.”

____

“Oh, so that’s the favor?”

____

“Aha, no. You haven’t chaperoned in a while, so you’re first on my list of teachers. But I will _definitely_ be cashing in on that favor sometime, so be ready!”

____

“I thought you said—”

____

“I could call upon you at ANY time!” the Dean said, raising an arm dramatically and turning to leave. “You’ll just be completely obligated to do whatever I need when the time comes!”

____

“Yes, but—”

____

_“And I never ask for a second favor when I’ve been refused the first.”_

____

A chill went down Ian’s spine. Dean Pelton was out the door before he could say anything else.

____

Ian was an atheist. But, as he prepared for his next class, he legitimately _prayed_ that he didn’t find a severed horse head in his bed the next morning.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: that part about making a friend laugh so hard that he hurts himself... that really happened. He almost passed out, and I thought I killed him. Luckily, one of our other friends there was a nurse... and we were playing Telestrations, not Pictionary.


	5. Special Sauce

The whole thing with Ian was bumming you out more than you had expected. Your saxophone instructor, who was normally strict, noticed you were feeling off and let you finish your lesson early. Luckily, that gave you time to take your mind off of things by watching your favorite show: _Academy_. Yes, _Inspector Spacetime_ was great, but _Academy_ had it all. Its college setting was relatable to you, the characters were a flawed but loveable gang of misfits, and every episode tried something new and unpredictable.

By the time study group rolled around, you were ready to socialize and, if you happened to get around to it, study.

“Abed, what’s it going to take for me to convince you to watch _Academy?”_ you asked.

“I’m not interested.”

“But it’s awesome! And it’s perfectly relatable for us!”

“Relating to people isn’t my thing. That’s your thing,” he said bluntly. “Besides, based on what you told me, there isn’t anyone on the show that’s like me at all.”

You thought about it. “Actually, there’s this geek—”

“GOOOOOOOOD MOR-DEAN, VIETNAM!” The Dean burst into the study room, causing everyone to jump except for Abed. Troy let out a high-pitched scream.

“You have _got_ to stop doing that!” Jeff said.

“I was afraid you were Professor Whitman!” Annie said, annoyed.

“Sorry, but I know how much Abed likes movie references, and I was _just_ thinking about how the two of us haven’t really _connected_ yet! You know, like I’ve connected with the rest of you all,” the Dean said with a chuckle.

“Why is everyone trying to relate to me?” Abed looked frantically around from person to person. “Stop it. That’s not my thing.”

“You aren’t _connected_ to _any_ of us,” Jeff clarified to the Dean.

“Mmm, you’ll see, Jeffrey,” the Dean said softly, conspicuously placing a hand on Jeff’s pec. “Anyway, the _real _reason I’m here is to announce Greendale’s next school dance, which is tonight!”__

____

Everyone groaned, but the Dean was so excited about his announcement that he didn’t seem to notice.

____

“The theme is ‘Fancy Pets!’”

____

The room fell silent.

____

“What?” Annie asked, confused.

____

“Fancy pets. Everyone is invited to bring their pets and dress up in fancy clothes.”

____

“Are the _people_ wearing fancy clothes? Or the pets?” Troy asked.

____

“BOTH!” the Dean exclaimed. It was an unexpected answer to one of Troy’s normally idiotic questions.

____

“Dean, this is a dumb idea. Even for you,” Jeff said.

____

“Yeah, what about people with animal allergies?” Annie asked.

____

“We’ll, um… keep the windows open,” the Dean said.

____

“What if someone brings a bird?” Abed pointed out.

____

“I—”

____

“Can I bring my dog?” Pierce asked. “It has a tendency to bite people.”

____

“I don’t have a pet!” Shirley protested.

____

“Oh my God, you guys, my cats—” Britta started.

____

“I’M GONNA BRING ANNIE’S BOOBS!” Troy shouted in pure glee.

____

The room then exploded into discussion and laughter as everyone either gushed about their pets or complained about not having one for the dance. Except for Jeff, of course, who couldn’t care less.

____

“GUYS!” The Dean’s girlish cry eventually pierced the loud cloud of conversation. Everyone finally fell silent. “I appreciate that you all have concerns, but I will have it all under control. I mean, with my _years_ of experience in planning successful dances…” he trailed off with a chuckle.

____

“‘Successful’ is a subjective term,” Jeff muttered.

____

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like any help with the logistics?” Annie asked. “I mean, I’ve helped you plan events before, and you know that my organizational skills are—”

____

“Yes, Annie, you can help,” the Dean sighed. Annie flashed a wide grin and bounced in her seat. “Not because I _need_ it, per se, but because you are persistent. Come along, then.”

____

With that, the Dean and Annie left the study room.

____

“This is going to be a disaster,” Jeff said once they were out of earshot. “Who wants to be trapped in a room with a bunch of gross, smelly animals?”

____

“I’m more concerned about the fact that something is _definitely_ going to get loose and start biting people,” you said.

____

“I sure hope so!” Pierce laughed.

____

“Well, at least Annie is helping plan the dance. That might prevent a disaster or two,” Shirley suggested. Most of the group nodded in agreement.

____

“Yeah, but you guys don’t realize just how difficult it is to keep animals from following their instinctual reproductive urges,” Pierce said. “With all of those animals in one room together… it’ll be a _fuck fest!_ I would know.”

____

Everyone grimaced. Pierce obviously expected someone to ask about his expertise on the subject, but no one was interested.

____

“I don’t think I’m going to bring Cleo,” you said, referring to your cat. “She’s skittish.”

____

“Aww, but she’s adorable!” Britta pouted. “I’m going to bring both of my cats.”

____

“Is everyone going?” Shirley asked.

____

“Normally, I wouldn’t,” Jeff said, “ but it could be entertaining. And I can’t think of a good excuse not to.” After Jeff’s statement, the rest of the group affirmed that they would be there, even Shirley.

____

“Alright, then I’ll see you guys at the dance!” you said, seizing the natural lull in the conversation to wrap things up. You had one more class to get to before you could go home and get ready. Everyone else started packing up too, until…

____

“Wait, (Y/N)!” Britta said suddenly. “How have your ‘therapy sessions’ been going?” She used air quotes around ‘therapy sessions.’

____

“I already _told_ you, they’re going well,” you said, annoyed. Britta only kept asking so that she could prove Ian was a bad person. “Although, I had to tell Duncan I can’t do them anymore.”

____

“Oh God, was he hitting on you?!” Britta asked with dramatic concern.

____

“He _better_ not have been!” Shirley said through gritted teeth, the usual sweetness in her voice completely absent. “I’ll whoop his ass if I have to, (Y/N), you just say the word—”

____

_“No!”_ you said, following with an impressively heavy sigh. “I just don’t have time to go anymore. I’ve been having trouble getting all of my music theory homework done.”

____

“But I asked you if we could watch _Inspector Spacetime_ this weekend, and you said you always have tons of free time,” Abed remarked.

____

“Well, that’s the weekend, it’s different,” you said. You hoped you didn’t sound defensive…

____

“You said you could come over Monday night, too.”

____

“That was before they assigned me a stupid paper _in addition_ to the usual harmonic analysis!” Okay, now you definitely sounded defensive.

____

“So, you’re not coming?” Troy asked with a hint of disappointment.

____

“Well, um, I guess it depends on how much I get done on Sunday,” you muttered. You didn’t want this lie to prevent you from hanging out with your friends.

____

Suddenly, Jeff’s phone buzzed on the table. Everyone watched as he picked it up and checked it. “Well, I have to go,” Jeff declared, standing up from his seat.

____

“We were all leaving anyway,” you said, grabbing your backpack and standing up. “I’ll see you guys tonight.”

____

Jeff barely looked up from his phone as he strode out the door, leaving the rest of you behind without a goodbye.

____

\-----------------------------------

____

It was pretty late in the afternoon, so Jeff was surprised to find so many people in the cafeteria. Annie was attempting to hang a banner for the upcoming dance, but it was too big for her to hold by herself, and the Dean was no help on the ground below. But Jeff wasn’t there to see either of them.

____

It didn’t take him long to spot Ian Duncan sitting at a table by himself, eating whatever garbage Greendale happened to be passing off as food that day. Jeff casually walked up to the table.

____

“You know, you don’t have to lie just to get me to come talk to you,” Jeff started, stealing Ian’s attention away from his meal. “Even if I _am_ way cooler than you.”

____

“Mmm, Jeffrey!” Ian said through a mouthful of food, covering his mouth and quickly trying to finish chewing. Jeff sat down across from him as he swallowed. “I’m glad you came. I wasn’t lying about there being an uproar in the cafeteria.”

____

“Everyone seems pretty calm to me,” Jeff said, looking around, “although I’m surprised that people are still choosing to eat here when they could actually go home after classes and eat _real_ food.”

____

“That’s the thing! _Look!_ ” Ian pointed at the food on his tray, which Jeff hadn’t bothered to notice before.

____

“ _Eugh,_ what the hell?!” Jeff gagged. Ian’s tray was heaped high with normal spaghetti. However, the pasta was covered in a thick, chunky, _jet black_ sauce that Jeff didn’t recognize. “What are you _eating?!”_

____

“Special sauce!” Ian said with his toothy grin. “See, Greendale apparently got this new spaghetti sauce from a local pasta shop that went out of business.”

____

“You mean a restaurant?”

____

“No, it was a store that just sold uncooked pasta, sauce, and other such ingredients.”

____

“Wow, that’s a bulletproof business model.”

____

“Yes, well, it’s no surprise they closed down. But they had all this special-made sauce from their own personal recipe. They couldn’t do anything with it, so Greendale bought it for next-to-nothing and started putting _this_ sauce out instead of the normal spaghetti sauce.”

____

“How long ago was that?”

____

“Mmm, I saw the cafeteria staff set it out for the first time on Tuesday.”

____

It was Friday.

____

“No one would touch it,” Ian continued, leaning in towards Jeff. “Until… a mildly attractive lunch lady offered Starburns some spaghetti. He wanted to get in her pants, so he ended up taking it. _With_ the sauce.”

____

“Okay, and I’m assuming it poisoned him?”

____

“Nope!”

____

“Aww,” Jeff whined, a bit disappointed.

____

“Turns out, the stuff is _delicious!_ No one knows what’s in it, but holy _shit!_ Once the word got out, everyone rushed to the cafeteria and took as much sauce as they could. Some people just forgo the spaghetti completely and eat the sauce with a spoon.”

____

Jeff barely stopped himself from gagging again. “Seriously? There’s no way that stuff is actually good.”

____

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” Ian pushed the tray towards Jeff.

____

_“Hell_ no!” Jeff physically recoiled. “You know I can’t eat carbs. Or arsenic.”

____

“Suit yourself,” Ian said with a shrug. He dug his fork into the pasta, taking a generous amount of the chunky sauce along with it.

____

Jeff couldn’t watch him eat that stuff. As he looked away, he saw _everybody_ eating pasta with “special sauce.” Leonard sat at a table by himself with his dish, shouting expletives and blowing raspberries at anyone who approached him. Everyone else was in groups; bowls of spaghetti and/or sauce could be seen in the center of every lunch table. Jeff spotted the Glee Club’s table, which was awfully quiet… they were too busy eating to sing stolen music. _That_ was impressive.

____

Jeff looked back at Ian curiously. Maybe it didn’t look _too_ bad…

____

“Actually, let me see some of that,” Jeff said, leaning forward and scooping a bit of the sauce on his finger. He studied it as Ian wiped his mouth with a napkin. “If this gives me food poisoning, I’m suing.”

____

“Suing me or the school?”

____

“Both.”

____

“Fair enough. But no one’s gotten sick yet,” Ian said, waving a hand dismissively.

____

Jeff finally shrugged and stuck the tip of his finger in his mouth to taste the sauce. Almost immediately, his eyes grew wide in astonishment. _“...Woah.”_

____

“Right?!” Ian laughed.

____

“What even _is_ this?” Jeff took his finger out of his mouth and stared at it. “I’ve never tasted anything even remotely like it.”

____

“And you wouldn’t think it would go well with spaghetti, but it does.”

____

“Seriously, how did that store go out of business with this stuff?!”

____

“I’m guessing no one bothered to purchase an entire jar of black spaghetti sauce just to try it out,” Ian speculated. “Only a Greendale student would taste something that looks like this unprompted… although I don’t know if it’s because of sheer stupidity or misplaced bravery.”

____

“Both,” Jeff said with a nod. “I’m gonna go up and grab some more of that.” He started to stand up.

____

“Ah, sorry mate, they’re all out.”

____

“Oh.” Jeff sat back down. “... you mind sharing some of yours?”

____

Ian chortled. “Are you serious? You’re lucky I let you have that bit on your finger!”

____

Jeff gave Ian a sour stare. “So, that’s what you texted me for? So you could barely give me a taste and then _gloat?”_

____

“Actually, no. I wanted to ask you something,” Ian said, his demeanor becoming more serious. He set his fork down, momentarily forgetting about the precious spaghetti sauce. “... Do you know why (Y/N) is avoiding me?”

____

Jeff rolled his eyes. “She’s not avoiding you. She just said she has a lot of homework right now.”

____

“She’s _saying_ that, but I don’t think that’s true,” Ian said, furrowing his eyebrows.

____

“Duncan, you and I both know you shouldn’t care that much about a student canceling her therapy sessions.” Jeff looked directly at Ian and raised an accusatory eyebrow. Ian averted his eyes. “Well?”

____

Ian sighed and looked back up. “Look, Jeff, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

____

“You mean you _weren’t_ trying to flirt with (Y/N) when you invited her to your office for private therapy?”

____

“Well, um, not exactly,” Ian stammered, shifting in his seat. Jeff didn’t ease off of his hard stare. “...I _may_ have thought that _maybe_ we would hook up at some point—”

____

Jeff leaned back in his seat, grimacing in withheld anger.

____

“—but that never happened! And I genuinely wanted to help her! When I asked her to come see me, I had no idea she _actually_ needed a therapist!”

____

“Taking advantage of mental illness is low, Duncan. Even for you.”

____

“Jeff, _listen,_ ” Ian pleaded. “Yes, I invited (Y/N) to my office so that I could flirt with her. But that all went out the window once I got to know her. I would _never_ take advantage of her.”

____

“Then why do you care so much about her canceling therapy?!” Jeff asked, raising his voice. A few people nearby shot him an annoyed glare.

____

Ian suddenly gripped the edge of the table, an intense demeanor settling over his face. “There’s a difference between looking for a quick shag and starting to _fancy_ someone!” he said in a low, strained voice.

____

“...Huh?”

____

“I _like_ her, Jeff!” Ian threw his hands into the air. “Bloody hell! She’s intelligent, adorable, and, not to mention, she’s got a _lovely_ set of knockers...”

____

Jeff was stunned—he had never heard Duncan say those things about anyone. Well, the first two things, anyway.

____

“But, you know. It’s mostly about her being cute, smart, funny, easy-to-talk-to, that sort of thing,” Ian muttered. He waited for Jeff to say something. The shock on Jeff’s face slowly faded, but he was silent. Ian sighed. “I care about her. And I thought she might care about me, too. But, clearly, I was mistaken.”

____

The two sat in awkward silence. Ian thought about eating some more spaghetti with special sauce, but his appetite was suddenly gone. And Jeff hadn’t said anything in a long time, so what was the point in staying?

____

As Ian started to move towards the edge of the booth, Jeff finally spoke.

____

“She talks about you a lot during study group.”

____

Ian froze. “...Huh?”

____

“(Y/N). She talks about you all the time,” Jeff said cooly. “It’s kind of annoying.”

____

Ian settled back into his seat. “...All good things, I hope?”

____

“Well, she once tortured the group by recounting an _entire_ conversation the two of you had about sun bears. I don’t know how long that was, but it felt like she was talking for an eternity,” Jeff said. “How does that even come up during a regular conversation, let alone during therapy?!”

____

Ian blushed a little. “Well, they’re actually pretty fascinating creatures, compared to other bears—”

____

“Don’t care,” Jeff interrupted. “She also won’t shut up about the stupid trinkets and books you keep in your office. She _did research_ about that weird bongo you have.”

____

“It’s a _kpanlogo._ From Ghana.”

____

“Right. And since she started seeing you, she talks about _Inspector Spacetime_ twice as much as before. Troy can barely keep up.”

____

“We took a break and watched an episode once. Doesn’t Abed watch it too?”

____

“Yes, but he never gets tired of talking about it.”

____

“Ah.”

____

“You know what else?” Jeff paused, and Ian tilted his head in interest. “Britta _constantly_ asks (Y/N) about therapy just to get her to admit you’re not helping her.”

____

“Ouch.”

____

“...But even Britta is starting to see that you really are helping. (Y/N) said you’re the first psychologist who has _ever_ made a difference in her life. She said that. To everybody.” Jeff paused for emphasis. Ian was unsuccessfully trying to withhold a smile. “She _hates_ talking about anything related to mental health. But she’ll certainly talk about _you.”_

____

Ian was blushing again, and Jeff couldn’t help smiling seeing his friend so smitten. But Ian’s face suddenly dropped a little. “...Then why did she cancel our therapy sessions?”

____

“...I’m not really sure,” Jeff mused, leaning back in the booth. He thought for a second… and remembered something. “Wait. When (Y/N) first mentioned you wanted to see her in your office, we all told her that you were going to flirt with her.”

____

“You know me so well,” Ian said dryly.

____

“And Annie asked if she was actually interested in you.”

____

Ian perked up. “Well? What did she say.”

____

“I believe her exact words were... ‘No, he’s a _professor,’”_ Jeff said, smirking and crossing his arms over his chest.

____

“Oh.” Ian frowned. “That’s disappointing.”

____

“Or is it?” As Jeff’s smirk grew, so did Ian’s confusion. “Sure, she probably wasn’t interested in dating you at the time. But she didn’t say, ‘no, I think he’s _ugly.’”_

____

“How reassuring.”

____

“She didn’t say no because you’re an alcoholic, lonely _nerd—”_

____

“Alright, point taken.”

____

“—she _specifically_ pointed out that you’re her professor.”

____

Jeff paused to let that sink in. Slowly, Ian realized where he was going with all of this.

____

“You think she’s concerned about a student-teacher relationship?”

____

“Exactly!” Jeff shouted, earning additional glares from the surrounding tables. “She’s probably just freaked out that she has feelings for her professor. You know (Y/N), she can take things like this _way_ too seriously.”

____

“I mean, she does have a reason to be worried,” Ian conceded. “We’re technically not allowed to date unless we fill out that stupid paperwork with the Dean. I _hate_ petty paperwork.”

____

“Hmm, it _is_ a pain in the ass,” Jeff said. “When Michelle and I met with the Dean to sign the papers, we almost broke up right there.”

____

“Would have saved you a lot of trouble,” Ian chuckled. Jeff shrugged. “Well… are you _sure_ she likes me?” Ian was doing the puppy-dog eyes again, but Jeff was impervious to its effects.

____

“One hundred percent? No. But you’ll never be sure unless you just ask,” Jeff said. “You know how these things go… you want to ask each other out, but you’re both afraid to risk the friendship you’ve already established... It’s typical.”

____

Ian nodded, but he still looked distressed. “I dunno…”

____

“Look,” Jeff started, sitting up straight. “She’s going to be at that stupid Fancy Pet Dance. Don’t you have to chaperone, anyway?”

____

“Unfortunately,” Ian huffed.

____

“Then why don’t you just talk to her tonight?”

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmm, special sauce...
> 
> And yes, I had to look up the drum in Duncan's office. I thought it would be easier to recognize since I've studied African music before, but by the time I realized it wasn't super common outside of Ghana, I was already committed to the bit.


	6. Fancy Pets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry this took longer than usual to write!! I have an online class that's been eating up a lot of my time. Today's also just been... weird. But here we are! Thank you guys for your support and kind words (seriously-I cannot tell you enough how grateful I am), and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> I think you guys will really appreciate certain parts of this one, if ya know what I mean, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more...

By the time you got to the cafeteria later that night, the party was in full swing. And you could already tell... it was going to be a doozy.

The music was kept low to accommodate the sensitive ears of the animals. There was every type of pet you could think of, some of which you thought _had_ to be illegal: dogs, cats, hamsters, chinchillas, snakes, foxes, parrots, you name it. Garret was even carrying a goldfish in a clear fishbowl. Luckily, Annie had come up with the idea to designate specific spaces for animals, keeping them far away from the main dance floor.

You made your way over to Jeff and Pierce; Pierce had a dog on a leash inside one of the roped-off areas, and Jeff was talking to him while standing a respectable distance away.

“Hey, strangers.”

“Oh, (Y/N)! Look what Pierce brought with him!” Jeff said in mock-excitement.

You looked at Pierce's dog, which you quickly realized was _not_ a dog but was, in fact, a coyote.

“This is my dog, Dolly!” Pierce said proudly. Dolly was hunkered low to the ground, ears back, emanating a low growl. “Isn’t she just ferocious?”

“Yes, Pierce, that’s because she’s a _coyote._ ” You backed away a bit.

“I tried telling him,” Jeff said.

Pierce didn’t seem to hear either of you. “I found her digging through my trash as a stray, and I took her in because she’s the most badass dog I’ve ever seen!”

Before you could say anything else, you were startled by someone clearing their throat behind you. It was none other than Ben Chang, who was wearing a suit and carrying a plate covered in sand and… were those hermit crabs?

“Jeff, I believe you’ve met these little guys,” Chang said, “but (Y/N) deserves an introduction! These are my hermit crabs: Ben, Jeff, El Tigre—”

“Aww, I love their little hats!” you interrupted. Each crab was wearing a tiny top hat on its shell.

“Ugh, it was Annie’s idea,” Chang muttered with a hint of annoyance. “She’s been trying to get everyone to follow the fancy-dress theme.”

“That’s nice.” You saw Troy and Abed out of the corner of your eye. “I’m gonna check in on those two,” you said, mostly to Jeff. “...Do you think Pierce has control over his, uh, dog?”

Jeff shrugged. “Probably not, but none of the other students or animals are crazy enough to step within that coyote’s biting-range.”

You looked back at the roped-off pet area. A handful of students and their pets were huddled close to the wall, far away from Pierce and Dolly. Pierce waved enthusiastically to you.

You waved back. “Well, I guess we’ll see…” You were going to say goodbye to Jeff, but he was already buried in his phone again, so you left to go find Troy and Abed.

As you made your way across the gym, you spotted a few more of Greendale’s most interesting specimens. Starburns was grinding against some poor student with his trusty lizard on his shoulder; he did not have his usual hat, presumably because it would have fit too well with the dance’s theme, making it an ineffective attention-grabber. Not far from the dance floor, to everyone’s horror, the Dean was wearing a _skin-tight_ dalmatian-print morphsuit, complete with a mask and a tail.

Then, you saw Ian. He was pacing slowly near the wall of the cafeteria, hands in his pockets, as if he was deep in thought. You would have liked to talk to him, but it probably wasn’t a good time.

Troy and Abed, who had been in the middle of a heated discussion, saw you approaching and straightened their posture to greet you.

“Ah, good day, madam!” Troy said in a posh accent.

“Mmm, yes, quite!” Abed added in an equally snobbish voice. The two best friends wore matching vests, tailcoats, bow ties, tidy top hats, and elaborately-adorned canes. They might as well have stepped out of Victorian London.

“Well, don’t you two look spiffy!” You were unable to stifle a smile; sure, they looked silly, but you loved the amount of effort Troy and Abed put into things like this.

“Much appreciated, my dear,” Troy said with a small bow. “I trust you’ve met my most-esteemed colleague?”

“Yes, how do you do, Abed?” you said, curtsying with your dress.

Suddenly, the two burst into haughty laughter. “No, of course you know Sir Abed.” Troy leaned forward a bit on his cane. “I was referring to the Duke of Greendale.”

Troy and Abed, who had been standing right next to each other, suddenly stepped apart to reveal their colleague on the high-top table behind them:

“Annie’s Boobs, Duke of Greendale!” Abed announced. The infamous monkey was leashed to the table with a black harness (with a bowtie). Annie’s Boobs had a top hat as well, but instead of wearing it, he opted to chew absentmindedly on the brim.

“Oh, how’d you get him out of the vents?!”

“We lured him out with a chocolate bar,” Troy said. “Who knew that all you have to do to get an animal to follow you is give it food?”

“After this measly reception, Duke Annie’s Boobs will return to his business in the vents posthaste,” Abed said with a nod.

You wanted to comment that the dance was actually a lot less “measly” than Greendale’s other attempts at hosting events. Then you saw Leonard vomiting right next to the garbage can about ten feet away.

“You _guys!”_ a familiar voice suddenly shouted from behind. You turned to see Annie running across the gym in your direction; she was surprisingly fast for someone in heels. “I told you to take that stupid monkey to one of the roped-off areas!”

The two gentlemen were startled, but Troy sprang into action, working to untie Annie’s Boobs’ leash from the table.

Abed turned to face you. “I sincerely apologize, my dear, but we’ve got to dash. Good day.” To your surprise (and amusement), he hastily grabbed your hand and kissed it lightly, like a gentleman.

Troy finally had the monkey untied and secured in his arms. “Annie’s Boobs doesn’t listen to plebs like you!” he shouted as the two started to run away.

“STOP CALLING IT THAT!” Annie barrelled past you, hot on Troy and Abed’s coattails. She probably would have caught up to them, too, if she hadn’t charged _directly_ into some poor bystander.

She hit the man square in the back, sending them both flying in opposite directions. Annie landed on her ass, the man landed on his face.

You might have laughed if you weren’t concerned. “God, Annie! ” You ran over and helped her up. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Annie muttered, brushing off her dress, “but Troy and Abed got away…”

The other man, who you had temporarily forgotten about, unsteadily pushed himself up from the ground. “Oh, sure, never mind the innocent bloke—” he started, finally turning around to face you and Annie. He stopped in surprise when he saw you.

It was Ian.

“Professor Duncan! I am _so_ sorry!” Annie said, utilizing her innocent doe-eyes. “I didn’t see you!”

“Oh, um... it’s quite alright, Miss Edison,” Ian said, straightening his vest. “Maybe don’t sprint through the middle of a crowded formal next time around.”

“Right. But… ugh, did you see which way Troy and Abed went?”

“Mmm, no, I believe I was too busy examining the cafeteria floor,” Ian said, flashing a sarcastic grin. “It’s quite filthy, mind you. Could use a good cleaning.” Even though Ian was talking to Annie, you thought you could see his eyes darting towards you periodically.

“Again, sorry.” It was a bit less genuine than her first apology. Annie then turned to face you. “Look, if you see Troy and Abed…”

“Annie, relax,” you reassured her. “They have that monkey on a tight leash. Literally. And your dance is going really well!”

Annie smiled and bounced lightly on her feet. “Thanks, (Y/N), you’re right. I should just _relax_ and enjoy the party!” She looked around the room a little bit, admiring her handiwork… until her gaze fell upon the snack table along the far wall. “... right after I refill that punch bowl. And maybe make sure the napkins are all stocked.” And just like that, Annie was off.

That left you alone with Ian. You turned to face him; he was attempting to clean his glasses with his tie. When he put them back on, you noticed his hair was more disheveled than usual from the fall.

“(Y/N),” he said with a small nod.

“Hi, Ian,” you said cautiously. You took a step towards him, hoping to appear confident despite your trepidation. But you could feel your face turning pink. Especially as you noticed just how good he looked in a suit. Sure, he was still a bit unkempt, but well-dressed men had always been a weakness of yours. Especially _this_ well-dressed man.

“Um, you look…” Ian’s eyes did a quick run over your body, causing the pink in your cheeks to deepen. You had gotten pretty dressed up for this party yourself. And you could tell he liked it. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you.” Your gaze fell to the ground, betraying your shyness.

“I’m glad I ran into you,” Ian started. When you looked up, you could tell he was nervous for some reason, too. “Well, I guess I technically ran into Annie. Or she ran into me… it doesn’t matter. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Ian, if this is about earlier, I promise that—”

“It’s not that, actually,” he interrupted suddenly. You were surprised. “Sorry. I respect your decision to discontinue therapy.”

“Oh.” You were relieved he understood, but he still looked like he had something important to say. “Then what’s up?”

Ian opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by another near-collision. This time, it was Garret sprinting by, clutching his fishbowl and covering the top of the glass in a futile attempt to prevent spillage.

“MOVE!” Garret shouted, narrowly dodging Ian. None of the other partygoers paid much attention, even when Chang appeared, running after Garret and knocking over a nearby table in the process.

“GET BACK HERE WITH YOUR STUPID CRAB-EATING FISH, NERD!” Chang yelled. He didn’t bother fixing the table, but you noticed a tiny top hat drop to the ground after the crash.

Garret shouted a retort that you couldn’t make out. You also couldn’t make out what was going on at this dance. Why were so many people sprinting around? How did Garret’s relatively stationary fish get a hold of a land-dwelling hermit crab? And who decided that fucking “Agadoo” was a good song to play at a college dance?!

Ian was still looking at you, clearly uninterested in finding the answers to any of those questions. “Maybe this isn’t the best place,” he said dryly.

“Right.” You looked around for a more quiet place to go.

“Here, follow me.” Ian nodded in the direction of the cafeteria doors. He led you through the crowded room and out those doors to the hallway. Then, he paused for a second; there were only a few doors visible before the hall opened up horizontally. “Ah, here,” he said, proceeding towards a beat-up door on the left.

Ian opened the door and turned on the light, illuminating a small room filled to the brim with formal attire of all sizes. Top hats, a bucket of monocles, coat racks full of suits and dresses.

“This’ll do,” Ian said, letting you inside and closing the door behind him.

“Jesus, so this is where Annie keeps all the crap she’s forcing people to wear.” You crouched down to examine an ugly floral hat.

“Yes, she tried to make me wear a top hat earlier,” Ian said. “I told her the fact that I’m British already makes me the ‘fanciest’ person here.”

“Did she buy that?”

“No, she made me take a monocle instead.” You looked at Ian, who was clearly not wearing a monocle. “It’s in the rubbish bin in the men’s room.”

“Well, she clearly has plenty of other monocles right here.” You picked one out of the bucket and held it up to your eye; that earned you a small chuckle from Ian. But his hands were balled into fists at his sides as he shuffled restlessly from foot to foot. You were starting to worry about him… what if he had some sort of bad news? You tossed the monocle back on the pile. “Ian… what’s on your mind?”

“Right.” He exhaled heavily and loosened up his stance a little. “First off, I’m sorry if I seemed, um, offended when we talked earlier.”

You wanted to reassure him (for the hundredth time) that he really had nothing to apologize for... but maybe Ian just needed to let it all out without you interrupting him this time. You kept your mouth shut.

“When you said you needed to stop therapy, I _should_ have tried to accommodate you, or we could have discussed your workload... or something. Instead, I made the whole situation about me. That was just completely unprofessional. But, um, that wasn’t the main point I wanted to make here. In fact, what I really want to say is… is also _completely_ unprofessional… but…”

Ian paused, furrowed his eyebrows, and looked away, his gaze drifting up towards the ceiling. “God, this was a bad idea,” he muttered.

“Ian, it’s okay,” you said gently. “There’s very little you could say that would make me, um... suddenly hate you, I guess?” You still weren’t one hundred percent sure about what was making him so fidgety.

“Well, you’d be surprised.” He still wouldn’t look at you.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Ian, you got me in here alone. I can tell you want to say something important. Out with it.”

His gaze finally met yours; at first, he still seemed overwrought (and maybe a bit surprised that you basically just commanded him to do something). You both just looked at each other for a moment. His eyes betrayed a certain vulnerability that you were somehow familiar with, but you couldn’t quite place it.

Ian sighed. “Look, I was afraid we were never going to get to talk again. I know you’re in my class, but that’s not the same at all. I like, just…” he gestured with his hands, trying to think of the right words. “...being with you. I like being with you. That’s probably, uh, weird to hear from your professor…” He was starting to blush again. “But that’s the truth. And, well, you already know I think you’re quite attractive.”

Ho-ly _shit._ Was this a dream? No, it felt way too real. This was _actually fucking happening._

Ian could see the realization and slight panic creeping onto your face, and he subconsciously backed away from you a little. “I certainly don’t _expect_ you to reciprocate any of that,” he said hurriedly, lifting his arms and opening his hands out towards you, “and I know teacher-student relationships are generally frowned upon. But, if you want…” __

__

Ian trailed off and looked at you, trying to gauge your reaction. You weren’t sure how you looked, or even how you felt. But you obviously weren’t completely put-off.

__

“...we could try to make something work.”

__

There was an almost pleading look on Ian’s face. It was adorable.

__

You asked yourself something: is this what you want? Yes, dating a professor was a little morally ambiguous. But this wasn’t high school. In fact, you had been out of high school for a while now. Ian probably wasn’t that much older than you. He had his problems, but so did everyone else. When’s the last time you felt like this about someone? When’s the last time someone went _way_ out of their way to confess their feelings for you? You had been telling yourself that this wasn’t right for so long… but would it make you happy?

__

_Is this what you want?_

__

“Yes,” you said aloud.

__

There was a pause. Ian’s expression was sort of blank; maybe you needed to elaborate.

__

“Yes, I _desperately_ want to go out with you,” you said, stepping closer towards him. He didn’t back away this time, but he looked astonished, as if you were the one who was confessing your love unprompted. “I like being with you. A lot. And I think you’re hot as hell.”

__

Ian blinked. “Seriously?”

__

“Yes.”

__

You could tell he believed you when he finally smiled. Then, to your pleasant surprise, Ian pulled you into a tight hug—you wrapped your arms around his neck and closed your eyes, relishing the feel of his arms around you and the scent of his cologne. Him being this close… this was better than that dream you had. This was real.

__

After a moment, you pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. He was still smiling like a dork. And your faces were _very_ close together. You thought you’d take a chance.

__

“You should probably kiss me right now.”

__

You barely got the chance to finish that last word before his lips met yours.

__

This was everything you wanted. You were determined to take in and memorize every little detail of this first kiss with Ian, just like you had tried to in your dream. His soft lips gently caressed yours almost as if he was afraid of ruining your lipstick. You still had your arms wrapped around Ian’s neck, and he had pulled you up against his chest to let his hands rest on your back. You could tell he wanted this as badly as you did, yet it seemed like he was making a conscious effort to be tender and affectionate.

__

After a moment, Ian broke the kiss and touched his forehead to yours. Those sweet, sparkling eyes of his... God, he was _so fucking cute._ And that first kiss was perfect. But... what about his _frisky_ side?

__

You unwrapped your arms from around his neck. Ian must have assumed you were letting go of him altogether, so he started to let go of you, too. But you were just freeing your hands up for a different purpose: taking the side of his face in one hand and grabbing his tie with the other, you pulled him in for a deeper kiss. Ian was not expecting you to kiss him like that. And you were _certainly_ not expecting him to _moan_ like that.

__

It took no time at all for things to get heated. The two of you fell into a rhythm, savoring each other’s lips some more before letting your tongues get involved. You finally let your hands roam into his hair, properly ruffling it all up (which was honestly one of your biggest turn-ons). For his part, Ian got very handsy, feeling around your back, sides, and venturing close to some more intimate areas without quite getting there. You were both still figuring out each other’s boundaries.

__

While you appreciated how Ian looked in a suit, the jacket was an extra layer of fabric that you could really do without. You pulled your hands out of his hair for a second and tugged at the jacket, starting to guide it off of him. He took the hint and let go of you long enough to throw the jacket to the ground. While you were at it, you took care of his vest, granting you much closer access to his chest. Sadly, there was still the button up and the undershirt to get rid of… all in due time.

__

Your hands moved immediately to feel his chest through his dress shirt, rubbing up and down and around his entire torso and his shoulders. Ian started to slowly guide you backward, but you barely noticed; you were engrossed in the sensation of his tongue roaming the inside of your mouth and his muffled, barely audible groans and grunts which accompanied it.

__

Suddenly, your back was against a wall, and Ian’s hands wandered persistently up towards your chest. He stopped kissing you for a second.

__

“Is this okay?”

__

You smiled at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. _“Hell_ yeah.” For good measure, you groped Ian’s ass, earning you another pleased sound as he kissed you again. He immediately seemed to resolve himself to feeling every inch of you, grasping at your breasts, kneading your ass, and even tugging the end of your skirt up a bit. He took a break from Frenching to kiss your neck while feeling you up. You sighed with pleasure as your hand went back to exploring his soft, dark hair, pressing his face further into the crook of your neck.

__

Then, Ian slowly pressed his pelvis into you and emitted a deep, guttural moan. You gasped and leaned your head back; his face was still glued to your neck. You had already been a bit turned on, but the sudden warmth in your lower half told you that you were getting _desperately_ horny. Ian continued slowly and tortuously grinding into you, so you threw a leg around his waist, trying to get a bit of friction where you needed it. That’s when you felt his bulge pressing between your thighs. The inadvertent moan that escaped your lips was louder than you had intended it to be.

__

Ian chuckled into your neck. “Careful, love,” he breathed, “we can’t be found out yet. Haven’t filed the proper paperwork.”

__

“I’ll be quiet if you stop being such a _tease.”_

__

He stopped kissing you for a second and looked you in the eyes. His pupils were _huge._ “Are we doing this, then?” he asked. “Right here and now?”

__

“That depends,” you murmured. For some reason, there was still a part of your brain telling you that this was all too good to be true. “Do you want to?”

__

_“Obviously.”_ As if to prove his point, Ian grinded his pelvis against you and moaned softly. You emitted an undignified whimper… God, you could barely fucking help it. Ian gave you a cheeky smirk, proving that he was definitely moaning just to see you all hot and bothered. And he was _really_ enjoying it.

__

You still had one concern, though. “You don’t think anyone will wander in here, do you?”

__

Ian hesitated for a second. “I doubt it. It seems like everyone’s already costumed up. And if someone comes in, they won’t see us right away behind that suit rack, so we should have enough time to hide or make ourselves decent.”

__

“Mmmmh, alright then...” You gave him your best bedroom eyes.

__

“So…” Ian’s hands went back up to massage your chest. His voice was low and seductive. “What should I do to you?”

__

You carefully moved your face closer to him so that your lips almost, but not quite, brushed against his. Then, you whispered: _“Fuck me.”_

__

The next minute of your life was a total blur. Ian was hitching up your skirt, tugging at your panties, you tore off his tie, grabbed at his belt…

__

Then, you heard someone jiggle the doorknob before swinging the door open in one forceful motion. Ian, who had heard the doorknob before you, pushed you down to the ground by the shoulders. He hadn’t meant to be forceful, but that _hurt._

__

“Sorry,” he whispered as quietly as he could. He did what he had to do to keep the two of you out of sight. But the intruder was persistent.

__

_“Duncan!”_ a high-pitched voice shrieked. It was the Dean. “I know you’re in here!”

__

Ian’s eyes widened in panic. But you knew he wouldn’t let the Dean just walk in and find you both like this. You quickly fixed his tousled hair and gave him a confident nod: he could do this.

__

Ian stood up and walked out from behind the coat rack—actually, he sort of just... leaned out from behind it. In an attempt to hide his erection. He didn’t look very natural.

__

“Oh, Craig! Fancy seeing you in here!” he said conspicuously.

__

“Jesus, Ian, I’ve been looking for you!”

__

You quietly scooted towards the clothes rack and crouched down, peeking out from underneath dozens of neatly-pressed dress pants. The Dean looked terrible, even for a man in a dalmatian-print morphsuit; an entire arm of the costume was torn off, and there was dark blood splattered on his legs. At least the Dean didn’t look injured… wait, then whose blood was that?

__

“What are you even _doing_ in here?!” the Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned forward and examined Ian closely for a second. “And, um, I think your lip is bleeding.”

__

Ian reached up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; it was actually your red lipstick. _Shit._

__

“Um, thanks,” Ian muttered, rubbing the makeup off on his dark pants. “I was just… well, it’s quite simple, really.” If he could pull forty minutes of anesthesiology out of his ass, this should be a piece of cake. And yet...

__

“Hold on— you _know_ this is a formal-dress dance!” the Dean said, putting his hands on his hips. “I thought you were wearing a suit and tie earlier! And you’re _British,_ for Dean’s sake!”

__

Ian looked down at his torso, surprised to find himself wearing less clothing than usual. His dress shirt was still on, but he felt practically naked without a vest and tie. “Oh, right… wait, you’re wearing a _morphsuit!”_

__

“It fits the theme!”

__

“Sure. Look, I just had a little wardrobe malfunction.”

__

Suddenly, the Dean gasped. “Hold on, I know _exactly_ what’s going on here!”

__

You barely stopped yourself from inhaling sharply. Sure, the Dean was a bumbling idiot, so you were pretty sure he wasn’t smart enough to figure this one out. But the prospect of it sent your stomach into a fit. Most people would be able to put two-and-two together at this point...

__

Ian just stood there, frozen, like a deer in headlights.

__

“You’re looking for a new outfit!” the Dean said cheerily, a smile jumping onto his face. “That jacket _did_ make you look a bit stiff. And your tie… Oh, thank _God_ I walked in here. You just hit the fashion-advice jackpot!”

__

While Ian was glad that the Dean was oblivious, he needed to backpedal. _Fast._ Before Craig started the search for a new suit only to find, well, _you._ There was nowhere else for you to hide, either.

__

“Right! Who needs that cheap, drab old suit?” Ian chuckled with a hint of bitterness. The indirect criticism stung a little. “Thanks for the help, but, um, considering I don’t wear women’s clothing, I think I have this taken care of…”

__

“No, no, I simply _must_ intervene,” the Dean insisted, starting to walk towards Ian (whose erection was thankfully long-gone at this point). Oh, God, he was about to walk right up to the suit rack…

__

“Wait, Craig!” Ian said quickly. “What… what the hell is going on with _your_ clothes?”

__

The Dean stopped and raised an eyebrow. “We already established that this fits the theme.”

__

“No, you _twat,_ you’re literally _covered in blood!”_ Ian exclaimed, taking a step back. You could see him slowly realizing that this situation was… strange. And scary. Even for the Dean. “And what happened there?” Ian pointed to Craig’s torn sleeve. While this line of questioning was certainly a successful diversion, it was also important for understanding what the fuck was going on.

__

The Dean glanced at his outfit and gasped dramatically. “Oh, _dammit!_ We don’t have time for this!”

__

“Time for what?!”

__

“For _anything!_ I need you out there _now!”_ the Dean shrieked, throwing his arms up in the air. “The animals are going _berserk!”_

__

“I’m sorry, _what?”_

__

“Well, Britta had the _genius_ idea to smuggle catnip into the cafeteria, and a bunch of the cats started freaking out! Once cats were running around everywhere, people’s dogs managed to get loose, and everything just fell apart very quickly after that.”

__

Ian blinked in astonishment. “So, is that _your_ blood, orrr…”

__

“Oh, no, that’s actually vomit.”

__

_“Bloody fucking-”_

__

“No, I _just_ said it isn’t blood.”

__

“I got that!”

__

“And you know what, it’s not even _my_ vomit!” the Dean huffed. “I don’t know why, but a _lot_ of people have been getting sick at this party.”

__

Ian sighed. “Did you give them radioactive taco meat again?”

__

“No, I did _not!_ And, frankly, I find it offensive that you would assume such a thing!”

__

“It’s happened before.”

__

“Oh, so I accidentally purchase toxic waste and serve it as food _one_ time—”

__

_“That’s one time too many!”_

__

“Fine! But we have other things to worry about, here! There are dozens of rabid animals running around and _shitting_ all over my cafeteria!”

__

“And what the hell do you expect _me_ to do about it?!”

__

“I don’t know!” The Dean was practically hysterical. “Help me round up some of these animals!”

__

_“Absolutely not.”_

__

“You’re supposed to be chaperoning this event!”

__

“Yes, but animal control was _not_ in the job description!” Ian asserted, shoving a pointed finger in the Dean’s face. _“You_ let this get out of hand.”

__

“AND _YOU_ SHOULD HAVE BEEN _FIRED!”_

__

Ian shut up and took a step back. As if this situation wasn’t chaotic enough already, this was the first you’d heard about his job being in jeopardy.

__

“That’s right, I certainly haven’t forgotten about our little chat,” the Dean continued, his voice suddenly calm and collected. A shadow settled onto his face.“You owe me a favor.”

__

“Okay, but… I thought you were just going to use me to hit on Jeff or something,” Ian grumbled.

__

“Well, that may have been the original plan… but this is more urgent.”

__

There was a tense pause. Ian sighed helplessly.

__

“Get your pompous ass in there, or I will do more than just fire you,” the Dean snarled. The image of a severed horse head flashed in Ian’s mind... he gulped. “And the _least_ you could do is wear a tie.” With that, Craig finally left.

__

You were in shock. What the hell was that? Did Dean Pelton just issue a _threat?!_

__

With his boss gone, Ian turned to say something to you. However, a piercing screech from the hallway stopped him for a second; you couldn’t tell if it came from a person or an animal.

__

“...I have to go,” Ian sighed. “I’m sorry.”

__

“It’s alright.” You started to stand, but Ian rushed over to help you up. Once you were on your feet, you brushed off your dress, sending a dust cloud into the air. Maybe the janitors would sweep more if they weren’t so busy cleaning up after paintball every year.

__

“I _really_ hate to leave you like this,” Ian said, crestfallen. 

__

“It doesn’t sound like you have a choice.”

__

“Well, getting sacked wouldn’t be so bad, but I really don’t want horse blood on my good sheets… and I just purchased a new bedspread...”

__

“...What?”

__

“Actually, forget I said that,” Ian said quickly, “and pretend I said something sane, like, ‘I’m cheesed off because I was looking forward to going out with you tonight, but it looks like I’ll be grappling with dogs and cats in the cafeteria for the rest of the evening.'”

__

You laughed. “That wasn’t much better than what you said before.”

__

“Yeah, well, that’s Greendale for you…” Ian shrugged. He was certainly annoyed. “For fuck’s sake, we were _this close_ to having it off.”

__

“...is that British slang for sex?”

__

“Yes.”

__

“Well then, don’t be too upset.” You smirked. “I won’t keep you waiting. I'm looking forward to this just as much as you are... If not more than you are.”

__

“I _seriously_ doubt that.” Ian looked like he was going to say something else, but he was stopped by another loud scream coming all the way from the cafeteria. That was _definitely_ a person.

__

“You better go,” you said.

__

“Right—wait, shit, I don’t have your number.” Ian started fumbling around in his pocket for his phone. He was rushing so much that he couldn’t seem to grab it.

__

“No, _go,”_ you insisted. “I’ll tell Jeff to send it to you.”

__

“Alright, good. Excellent. Well, ta ta, then. ” Ian finally turned to go, rambling stereotypical British farewells all the way to the door. “Toodle doo, cheerio!”

__

Suddenly, right as he reached the doorway, he turned back as if he had forgotten something. You were about to tell him to just _leave already,_ but he surprised you with a quick peck on the cheek. Then, Ian briskly left the room, picking up his suit, vest, and tie on the way out.

__

You stood still for a moment, lightly touching the spot where he kissed you goodbye. The clamor of animals trampling around the school grew louder as you revelled in the miracle that was the last ten minutes of your life. You hadn’t felt this great since… ever. Well, except for that time you met John Cleese. Nothing could top that. Because he’s _John fucking Cleese._ Ian should be honored that kissing him was such a close second on your list of happiest moments… wow, British men were really dominating that list. Not that that’s surprising.

__

Your internal reflection was interrupted by a cat sprinting into the room like it was on crack. It stopped dead in its tracks, hissed at a stain on the floor, then sprinted back out.

__

That was your cue to go home.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, sorry, that was a bit of cocktease. I couldn't resist. If it's any consolation, I can assure you that the next chapter is pretty much JUST going to be smut. Filthy, nasty, smutty smut.
> 
> Some side notes:  
> I definitely don't have a thing for guys who are loud during sex, don't bother asking.  
> I just realized today that Craig Pelton is literally a fucking furry.  
> If anyone knows how one might go about meeting John Cleese or John Oliver, please let me know. Just asking for a friend.
> 
> Thank you.


End file.
